The Vagabonds
by sweettooth7
Summary: A series of ficlets about Daryl and Carol, taking place throughout the series. Mainly Daryl and Carol alone, but some other characters may appear from time to time.
1. Wounded

**Hello there!**

**This is a series of one-shots that are all about my most favourite TV couple. If you're not a stone cold Caryl fan, I can assure you this isn't for you. I love those two (LOVE), and I'm very impatiently awaiting their reunion next season.**

**I've noticed a slow-down in Caryl fics since the back half of season 4 aired, and although I can totally understand how the inspiration is lacking right now, I want us Carylers to keep faith! It's not over! I truly believe we're being dragged through the mud for a reason...a good one. And no, I don't think Daryl and Beth are "meant for each other" (for many reasons, the least of which has to do with Beth's age) - and if you want to hear me go on about it, I'll post one reason per chapter of this little one-shot series : P**

**I really want to write a reunion piece, but I, like so many, am drawing a complete blank. I have no clue whatsoever what their reunion might be like. It's a complete mystery - which is only fueling the anticipation (clever, clever TWD writers).**

**Anyhow, I hope you enjoy these little pieces...I have quite a few ideas that I want to get through, I just have to write them. So please let me know what you think, and if you have any ideas for what you'd like to read about, let me know and I'll see what I can cook up : )**

**Disclaimer: If you recognize it, I don't own it. I own nothing having to do with TWD or anyone/anything related to it.**

**KEEP THE CARYL PRIDE ALIVE! ; )**

* * *

**This little ficlet takes place in the prison. Daryl had gone out hunting and returned quite injured, with cuts and scrapes all over his back, but refused anyone's help to clean them up. Enjoy!**

* * *

Carol made her way to the shower room, bucket in hand. She was feeling particularly stubborn today, not having slept the last few nights on account of Judith, and she was determined to get her way.

She peeked inside and saw him there, his back to her, as he peeled off his shirt slowly, wincing along the way.

"Need some help?" she asked softly, trying, unsuccessfully, not to startle him.

"No," he said curtly as he spun around, holding his shirt up to his chest in an attempt to cover as much of the surface area as possible.

She tilted her head to the side, having expected this type of reaction. But she'd seen his scars – he knew she had – so there was nothing there that would frighten her away.

"Hershel said you were cut up pretty bad. We need to clean your cuts, Daryl." She worked at keeping her voice soft and patient, even though she wanted to slap him silly.

"I can do it myself," he grunted.

Carol inhaled for a beat and sighed loudly.

"Daryl," she began, stepping towards him.

He didn't move away, which was a good sign. He only stood there, still as a statue, and looked into her eyes as she spoke to him.

"If we don't clean the cuts on your back properly, they can get infected. You've made it this far. Do you really want to be taken down by an infection you caught from a little scrape?"

She let her voice take on a teasing tone so that he didn't feel like she was nagging him. In reality, Hershel had said one cut in particular was quite deep and needed attention right away.

Daryl could feel her concern for him, he always could. He felt that her concern for him ran a different course than it did for everyone else. Not deeper, necessarily, but certainly different. He knew because it's how he felt for her. He loved everyone in their group, he knew he did, but Carol was placed in her own little compartment. Her own little place separate from everyone else, where no one could understand the attachment he felt to her, and no one could dare to touch it.

But still, he didn't budge. He remained entirely silent, looking at her.

She stared back, her eyes softening with her concern. Suddenly her short fuse didn't seem so short anymore.

Something was up with him, she could sense it. He seemed self-conscious. Nervous. Weary.

"Daryl," she whispered, trying to urge him on.

He took a breath, but still wouldn't move.

"It's me," she said, barely more than a whisper.

He knew she'd seen them before. He knew she'd suffered her own version of what he'd suffered. He knew she would never judge him or hurt him, or make him feel like less of a person. He knew he was safe with her.

But he was painfully aware in that very moment of just how important she was. Sure, she'd seen his scars, she knew vaguely what they meant about his life, but if he turned around and let her clean his brand new cuts, she'd be up close and personal with the old ones. Examining them. Thinking about them.

He'd come so far. He'd become a person he could say he liked. He was happy, whatever that meant in this new world. He didn't want to mix the old with the new. He didn't want to get Carol all jumbled up with his demons. He wanted her here, in the prison, at the end of the world, in this made-up sanctuary he held for her, where she only knew the new Daryl. The good Daryl.

He loved the way she looked at him. Loved the way she made him feel like he mattered. Like he was precious to someone – to her.

Her eye caught something on his chest and he knew exactly what she'd seen. He moved quickly to cover it with his shirt so that she couldn't think any more about it, but her hand flew up and caught his wrist, halting his action.

He ground his teeth together, feeling more exposed than ever, his glare begging her to drop it.

She brought her other hand up, her gentle touch like a feather over the raised skin of the scar, her eyes curious on the mark. She recognized it. She knew without a shadow of a doubt, it was a cigar burn.

His free hand flew up then, grasping her wrist firmly, making her stop.

She pulled her hands away from him then, surrendering to his need to not be touched.

And before he knew it, her face changed and things happened fast after that.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. His eyes flitted briefly to the movement of her fingers before scrutinizing her face once more.

She tentatively held the hem of her shirt before a steely resolve flashed in her eyes. In one swift motion, she brought it over her head and tossed it down beside the bucket.

She couldn't look at him for a moment. It was like she was talking to herself, inside her head. Telling herself something. He couldn't read her.

His eyes travelled on their own accord across her body. He tried not to look, but his efforts were wasted. He took in the swell of her breasts over her worn cotton bra, gulping at the fact that she was suddenly standing in front of him without a shirt on.

He had no idea what she wanted, what she was doing, but he didn't even care to stop it. He knew he should be some sort of gentleman, tell her no and make her cover up, but he just didn't want to. His walls were crumbling.

When he looked back at her face, her eyes were on his.

He almost felt bad that he was caught with his eyes on her like that, but he decided that he didn't care if she knew how he felt – how he wanted her.

He swallowed hard, wondering what on earth was supposed to happen next.

She turned around then, her back to him, and he saw the rise and fall of her shoulders and she inhaled and exhaled deeply.

She didn't say anything though, and his gaze travelled down her back, his throat catching at what he saw there.

He brought his hand up without thinking, his fingers ghosting on three little round scars he saw in a cluster, just under her bra strap.

She shivered lightly at his touch, letting out a breath of air she didn't realize she was holding, and smiled slightly at the feather-lightness of it. Despite what she was showing him, his touch brought her an odd sense of peace.

"Cuban cigars from one of his buddies," she practically spat out the last word.

He paused in his touch, his eyes travelling up to the back of her head.

He did this to her. The filth that called himself a man, a husband, a father. He put these marks on his Carol. Daryl ground his teeth together. He always knew it was happening, right from the moment he laid eyes on the Peletiers at the quarry, but the physical evidence of it turned his stomach.

His hand moved to another mark, this one bigger, and not raised like the others. Instead, it was a discoloration. A birth mark?

"Boiling water," she said softly, as if she'd heard his unspoken question.

He let his fingers linger there a second, reigning in his anger, his frustration, at what she'd suffered in her life.

His eye caught one more mark, further down, close to the waistline of her pants. This one was longer, and jagged, the skin raised. It was a cut, he knew that for sure. It ran from the middle of her back off to the side a bit, barely over the skin on her waist.

He traced it with his thumb, gently, as though it still hurt her.

She closed her eyes and swallowed before answering.

"That one," she took a breath, "was from a particularly rough night when he used to make me…"

Her voice trailed off and she didn't finish, shaking her head against the memory of it.

"I never could get the blood out of those sheets," she finished quietly.

Daryl's hand lingered there on her waist for a moment before dropping down to his side, and he looked, again, at the back of her head.

She turned around to face him again and looked up at him, her eyes slightly glassy.

He didn't say anything, though. There was nothing to say. He just looked.

"Turn around, I'll get started," she finally spoke, breaking the intense silence between them. She knew he wouldn't want to dwell on it, or talk it out, so she got on with it. And she was right. He wanted no such thing. Not because he didn't care, but because he didn't know what to say.

She understood him, that much was true. He could see it in the way she was so apprehensive to take off her shirt, to show him her own scars. Their demons were probably cousins, having picnics in the park and family reunions.

He said nothing, but let his gaze linger on hers as he turned around. She moved to soak the cloth in the water she had laced with antiseptic, wringing it out a bit, and stood up to face his cut-up back.

She gasped at the sight of the scars he wore, grateful that she had barely made a sound.

Carol swallowed back the lump in her throat.

She had seen them before, but not in such light. Not so close. She saw every single one, now, and new he was so very little when he got his very first one. The thought made her sick.

"This might sting a little," she said, in hopes that she wouldn't make him feel any more self-conscious than he already was. She refused to address the marks. She'd pretend they weren't even there.

He said nothing, fearing that he would say the wrong thing, or worse, burst into tears at the sheer intensity of the moment.

She applied the wet cloth gently to the first of his scrapes, and he flinched a little.

Carol smirked at his reaction.

"Told you, you big baby," she teased.

She heard him chuckle, and smiled to herself as she worked.

But she couldn't see the smile that spread on his face, or feel the tension leave his body at her words.

It was done, and there was nothing he could do about it. They were tethered to one another now, it was almost palpable.

As they stood there together, with his back on full display to her in broad daylight, there in the shower stalls of the prison they now called home, he felt himself change.

He felt the way his chest expanded to make more room for her. And as far as he was concerned, she had crawled right in and made herself a home there.

* * *

**There you have it, the first one!**

**I wasn't sure how to write it in, but I liked the idea of them standing there without shirts on while she cleaned him up. Both totally exposed to one another. I love them (have I mentioned that already?) ; )**


	2. Return

**Hello again! Wow, thank you so much for all the follows/favorites/reviews! I am so grateful that you took the time to read, and that you enjoyed it : ) Hopefully I can deliver with this next installment. I'm worried I started off on a high note, ha!**

**This piece takes place in the prison (again), and I think the story is pretty self-explanatory - no extra info to give. I hope you like it...I've had this idea in my head for a while and I got so excited about writing it that I did it pretty fast so I could share, and now I'm wondering if it translated to words well enough...**

**I will leave you Carylers with one quick motivational observation: When Daryl got back from that run to get the meds for the sickies, who did he ask about first, you guys? Carol! This is not something we should forget. Not now, not ever.**

****Disclaimer: If you recognize it, I don't own it. I own nothing having to do with TWD or anyone/anything related to it.****

**CARYL ON, my friends! oxox**

* * *

She headed outside in a light jog, a smile on her face, anxious to see what the group had brought back with them this time.

It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining. There was a light breeze. Perfectly spaced out clouds that gave them just the right amount of shade.

Everyone was excited about this run. Maggie and Glenn had found a town nearby that had barely been picked through – they basically had their pick of the litter. Lists were made, a group was assembled, and off they went.

They were only gone for one night – another huge relief.

So Carol headed outside, Beth following behind a little slower, holding Judith, to greet their family.

Carol saw Michonne, Glenn and Maggie unloading boxes from the truck bed, something off about their demeanor. Why weren't they more excited about all their loot?

She glanced around, looking for that one missing piece, her smile fading and her feet slowing upon not finding it right away. It wasn't where it usually was. She spun around, her eyes darting around once more.

_Where is it?_

She broke into a jog again, heading towards Rick with a look of concern on her face.

_Where is his motorcycle?_

"Carol –" he started.

"Where's Daryl?" she asked, breathing heavy, trying to quell the knot that was tying her insides into a jumble of nothing.

She would hear him out, and everything would be fine. She'd be worrying for nothing.

"Rick!" she repeated, her voice demanding and frantic. His eyes weren't helping her calm down, not at all. They were making the whole thing worse.

"He, um..." Rick glanced at Michonne then, who had stopped working and was now leaning against the truck, her head down, her face sombre. Her eyebrows furrowed in a way that troubled Carol to no end.

Carol's eyes flitted frantically between Rick and Michonne.

"Someone please tell me," she demanded, her anxious whisper barely making it past the lump in her throat.

"He didn't make it," Rick told her simply.

When Rick looked at Carol, all he saw were her eyes filled to the brim with tears, starting incredulously back at him.

"What do you mean?" She didn't understand.

"Carol –" he tried again.

"I don't understand," she said, shaking her head, looking back towards Michonne. She vaguely registered Maggie and Glenn, standing on the opposite side of the truck, those same solemn looks on their faces.

"He," Rick took a deep, shaking breath. "He was surrounded. We couldn't get to him. I looked away for one second, grabbing my gun, and when I turned back, I couldn't see him anymore. He was just...gone."

Carol's tears stayed put, pooling in her glassy eyes but making no move to fall. She shook her head swiftly.

No, she didn't understand. She couldn't understand.

"That doesn't make any sense," she said, trying to smile, to diffuse the situation. Couldn't they see how ridiculous they sounded?

Rick looked away from her then, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers, trying to hold back the sobs that were threatening to escape.

"You didn't see him...die?"

Rick's eyes shot up at her then. The look of confusion on his face was crystal clear.

"Was he bit? Did you _see_ it happen?" she asked again.

_How are you not _getting_ this?_

"He was gone, Carol," Glenn piped up, his voice shaky. "We couldn't see him anymore."

"We had to get out of there," Maggie added sadly. "We were out of time."

Carol nodded, thinking about all the information they were throwing at her.

"You left him?" She asked, her voice barely louder than a whisper.

"We had no choice," Michonne whispered back, tears falling down her cheeks.

Carol shook her head. "How could you _leave_ him there?" Her face was incredulous, her voice almost disgusted.

Rick glanced back at the others, not sure what else to say. Carol wasn't getting it. She wasn't understanding what they were telling her. Daryl had died. He was ambushed, swarmed, surrounded. There was nothing they could do.

"I know, Carol. It's hard," he began, putting a hand on her shoulder to comfort her, but she took a step back swiftly, cutting him off.

"You didn't see it. You didn't see it happen," she croaked, her eyes scanning the ground around her.

_No._

She began backing away from the group, all eyes on her. And then she turned around and marched back into the prison, passing Beth with Judith, standing there crying after having heard what happened to her friend. Passing Hershel, who reached out to her, but who she ignored.

_No_.

* * *

That night, Carol had planted herself on one of the picnic tables in the courtyard, overlooking the prison yard, overlooking the gates.

She had nothing but her sweater toward her off against the chill. And there she sat, as she had for the remainder of the afternoon and evening, arms crossed over her chest, perfectly still. Skipping dinner, even though Beth had brought her a plate. It sat there still, now, in the middle of the night – closer to dawn than dusk – cold and wasted.

She didn't realize Rick had come to sit beside her until he spoke.

"You need to come inside, it's too cold out here," he told her softly, leaning his elbows on his knees, and looking into her eyes.

She shook her head, not taking her eyes off the gates.

"He might come back."

Rick sighed, letting his head drop.

"Carol, he's gone." His voice was so soft, it almost irritated her. He was trying to placate her, talking to her delicately so as not to set her off.

She shook her head once more.

"You didn't see it," she said simply.

"I didn't need to. I'm glad I didn't."

"Rick," she bit out, her eyes not leaving the gates for an instant. "If anyone could have made it out of that, it's him."

"You're right. But, Carol –"

"You didn't _see_ it," she said with finality, shaking her head once more.

He didn't know what to do. She wouldn't budge. Wouldn't listen to anyone. Not one single person could bring her out of this.

He ran a hand over his face. "We're all here for you, Carol. We'll get through this, we will. We always do."

She didn't move. Didn't respond. Just sat there, looking out towards the gates.

"Rick!" Glenn's voice was loud, shouting at the top of his lungs, from the guard tower.

It brought Rick to his feet in a fraction of an instant. The sheer hysterics of it made Carol's eyes snap up towards where the voice came from.

"What do you see?" Rick yelled back, pacing himself to get help or run to the tower.

And that's when they heard it. That's when Carol's heart pounded so hard she thought for sure it would give out and leave her lying there dead.

The roar of the motorcycle was music to their ears. Rick sprinted into action, running at full tilt towards the gates, ready to open them for his friend – his brother – so he could drive right in.

And Carol rose to her feet on shaking legs. Her breath was heavy, her heart continued to pound hard, and she stared incredulously as the motorcycle approached the opening gates, driving right through.

And then she was moving.

She sprinted harder and faster than she ever had before, running towards him.

He had barely gotten himself off the bike when she slammed into him hard, wrapping her arms around his neck, squeezing with all her might, panting.

And Daryl was frozen from the sheer surprise of the impact, not having even seen her coming in the darkness.

But her scent wafted over him, and it was unmistakably soothing. He closed his eyes and slowly brought his hands up to hold tight to her waist, keeping her firmly against him.

He didn't know what to make of this. Was she okay? She seemed frantic, and he was confused. But he held her there as her loud, deep breaths hit the skin of his neck.

"I thought you were dead," she breathed.

"I'm here," he said softly, still incredulous at how she even ended up in his arms.

"They told me you were dead," she breathed once more, still so overwhelmed with her emotions that she was practically hyperventilating.

"I'm here. I'm okay," he whispered reassuringly.

She pulled back the tiniest bit, letting her hands come to rest on his shoulders, her face an inch from his for the briefest of instants and their eyes locked. And although the moment lasted for a fraction of a second, their proximity and mingling breaths were imprinted in his mind.

Her hands continued their journey as she stepped back, running them along his arms and chest, swift in her examination. His hands remained on her waist until they couldn't reach anymore, her movements making it too hard to hold on.

"No bites? No...scratches?" she gasped.

He shook his head, watching her.

Her hands dropped to her sides in exasperation then and she looked at his face as she stepped back, the tears finally coming with the wave of relief.

She let her head drop as she worked to steady her breathing, stepping towards him once more and laying a hand on his chest.

He brought a hand up to cover hers, still watching her face, and her free hand flew to her mouth to stop the sobs that were sure to escape as she kept her gaze lowered, feeling his heartbeat, steadying her nerves.

And then she turned, her hand dropping from underneath his, and made her way inside the prison.

She walked briskly, Rick and Glenn looking anxiously between one another, as Daryl watched her steadily until he couldn't see her anymore.

* * *

**I know, I know...what kind of an ending is that?! I really just wanted to focus on the reunion moment. : )**

**And I have a theory, you guys...I feel like it's a _possibility_ that Daryl _might_ have known what she did, hence his efforts to bring Tyreese on the run with them. I need to re-watch the scene where Rick tells him she's gone, but I feel like his anger was mainly focused on the fact that Rick left her. I dunno...I'm sure I'm wrong (I usually am when it comes to TWD), but it's fun to think about. And I'd like to write something about it, but I can't seem to come up with any type of context. : S**

**Please let me know what you thought. Later alligators!**


	3. Sitting

**Thank you again for all the support for these Caryl moments...it's incredibly motivating every time I get a little notification in my inbox : ) Big thanks also to the guest reviewers, who I'm not able to reply to. **

**This one's just a teeny tiny one, but I might post another later today. I just thought this one was adorable, and thought I'd get it out there. I'm also hoping that by pushing all these other ideas out of my head, it will make room for cooking up a reunion fic, or maybe your reviews will be able to trigger something in my head. I think the Terminus factor is the big hurdle...not knowing exactly what's going on there with our people is making it really hard to imagine any scenario where they can meet again. *sigh*...October is so far away!**

**And don't forget, you guys: "I liked you first."…I like to believe this was TWD's whirlwind way of letting us know that it is NOT. OVER.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing : )**

* * *

Carol woke before almost everyone else, every single day. At the quarry, at the farm. She had always been an early riser, and now that they were all settled in the prison, she took advantage of her wakefulness and started on breakfast for the group each morning.

The prison would begin coming to life slowly but surely, with everyone assembling in the common area of the cell block, just below Daryl's self-appointed perch.

Daryl was another early riser. If he wasn't out hunting or taking watch in the early morning hours, he could be found sitting on his mattress, cleaning his bolts or making himself new ones.

She would nod at him as she passed to start the meal, and he would nod back.

On the third day of Carol's new morning routine, she distributed the meal as evenly as she could in the bowls and plates she had found, and lay them out on one of the tables for everyone to grab. She took one for herself and one for Daryl, placed them on a tray with two cups of water, and made her way up to his perch.

He never made a move to grab his breakfast, always one to let everyone else eat before feeding himself.

Because, although Carol had always been an early riser, she was very much _not_ a morning person. She didn't want to talk, didn't want to socialize. She just wanted to be.

Before the dead began roaming the earth, Carol would wake up before her husband and daughter, make herself a cup of tea, and go about preparing for the morning routine in blissful silence. The peace and quiet was like a drug for her; she basked in it each morning as she mentally prepared herself for a day of unknowns. Because once Ed woke up, she would be dealt her hand for the day, and the Gods were not always on her side.

Over the winter that had just passed, as the group ran and ran from place to place, they very rarely were able to wake up on their own accord. They were typically jolted from their slumber at odd hours, on the run within minutes. There was no time to socialize over breakfast, to enjoy each other's company. Spirits were low and focus was high, so Carol just pressed on with the rest, doing her part in silence. Just trying to get by. Make it through to the next sunrise.

But now that they were settled and the group was buzzing with fresh hope, it was like every single one of them woke up with a ray of sunshine beaming out of their ass.

There was only one other person in their group who had the same morning philosophy as she did. The only person she could stand to be around for a good hour after waking up.

She handed Daryl his bowl and cup and he glanced up at her in thanks. He didn't need to say anything, the acknowledgement was enough. She didn't feel like saying "you're welcome" anyway, so it worked out perfectly.

Carol planted herself beside him on the edge of his mattress, and he looked at her with confusion. A hint of annoyance. He liked to be left alone in the mornings.

He was about to say something about it, maybe give her shit about how the perch is a no-talking zone, but she put a finger to her mouth and closed her eyes, and when she opened them she was almost pleading.

_No talking. Please_.

Then she turned back to her food and ate in silence. His eyes trailed on her profile with a hint of a smile on his face. She made no move to say anything, no attempt at engaging him. She just wanted to sit there, in his company.

So there they sat on the edge of his mattress, legs crossed as they overlooked the hustle and bustle of their family down below – laughing, talking about their plans for the day, their plans for their future at the prison, the different ways they could make it a home.

But Daryl and Carol just sat up above, perfectly silent and content to have a partner in crime, perfectly pleased to not want to talk to one another.

And so this quickly became _their_ morning ritual, on the days he was there. She would bring him his food and sit down beside him. There would be no talking; only sitting. Sometimes, though, they would look at one another. Smirk about something that someone had said down below. Sometimes he would raise his eyebrows after his first bite as if to convey that it was good. Or sometimes they would just look, their eyes conveying the weight of their thoughts that day.

When they were done, he would take her plate from her to be cleaned, on his way out to hunt or take watch.

And on the days he wasn't there, she would eat in that same peaceful silence, sitting up on his perch at the edge of his mattress, taking it all in as she steadied herself for the day.

But lately, he seemed to be there more often than he wasn't, and they sat for a minute more each day after they were done eating before he took her plate away. Just sitting.

Yes, they could make a home here.

* * *

**Thank you for reading!**


	4. Dispute

**Another huge thank you for the sweetest reviews ever...you have no idea how motivating they are : )**

**One more for today! I'm telling you, I almost _feel_ the space freeing up in my head every time I post something ; ) Let's all share some good vibes to get some good post-S4 fics going. **

**Think about the overturned bus, y'all. What happens on the overturned bus stays on the overturned bus. I didn't see Daryl rubbing anyone else's shoulders, my dear friends. Not to mention the way he eyed her while he did it. Carylers unite! We can make it through together! **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing (but you already knew that) ; )**

* * *

**This fic takes place after Daryl found Carol in the tombs, and before the group leaves to rescue Glenn and Maggie. Enjoy!**

* * *

"I want to come too."

Daryl's eyes shot up to stare incredulously at her, along with everyone else's.

"What the hell are you talkin' about?" Daryl growled.

"I want to come. I want to help."

"Carol, I don't think that's the best idea," Hershel interjected calmly. "You're just getting your strength back."

"I can help," she argued. "The more people that go, the better. Right?" She turned to Rick, then. "You said yourself I'm a good shot. I _should_ come, to help you. To cover you. Do _something_."

"You'll be helping plenty by staying here with Hershel and Carl and Beth. Judith," he answered her, nodding towards the sleeping baby cradled in her arms.

Carol's gaze travelled towards Daryl, who was looking back at her. Glaring.

"Daryl, I can help," she tried once more, her voice a little lower, but almost pleading with him. If he said yes, she knew Rick would concede.

"You ain't coming," he snapped.

"Daryl –"

"No."

And with that, he left the room, leaving the rest of them in silence.

"Carol –" Rick began, but she wouldn't hear it. She swiftly passed the baby to her father and stormed off in the direction she saw Daryl disappear to.

She found him pacing in an empty cell block.

"What is your problem?" she began, coming to stop a few feet in front of him and crossing her arms over her chest.

"_My _problem? You're actin' fuckin' crazy," he shot back.

"I want to _help_, Daryl. How is that crazy?"

"You wanna help? You wanna come with us to Woodbury? Get caught in the middle of a war? It's a suicide mission. You ain't comin'."

"_You're_ going."

"That's different."

"It's not different," she said sternly, shaking her head and looking down at the ground.

"It's _different_," he repeated, coming to stand directly in front of her and getting right in her face. She flinched at his sudden proximity.

"You'll be safe here," he said, his voice calming, just a little bit.

"Maybe."

"Safer than if you came with us."

"Maybe."

They didn't say anything to one another for a minute or two. Instead, Daryl paced anxiously and Carol watched him, her arms still crossed petulantly like before.

"Why don't you want me there?" she asked quietly.

"What?" He had heard her, but the question was so ridiculous that he needed her to repeat it.

"Why don't you want me there? Think I can't handle it? Think I'll fuck it up? I'm not like I used to be, Daryl, and you _know_ that."

"That ain't why," he growled again, coming closer to her before moving away.

She ground her teeth together. She didn't care that she just kept making him angry. She _needed_ to know.

"Then what is it?"

He ran his hands through his hair, continuing his pacing for a moment before stopping a few feet from her, his body turned slightly away from her, his gaze on the ground in front of him.

"If somethin' happens, I might not be able to help you."

His voice was so quiet that she wasn't sure she heard him right.

"Help me?"

He looked up at her then, his thumb coming to his mouth in a nervous twitch.

"If somethin' happens and I'm not around you," he continued.

"Daryl," she cut him off. "I'm not offering to go because I think I'm invincible when you're around. You can't always save me. I know that. I just…I want to help get our friends back."

"They need you here."

"They don't _need_ me here," she argued, her voice rising.

"And what if we don't come back, huh?" he shouted.

She was taken aback by his outburst. It's what she was always afraid of, every time he left. The fact that he was bringing it up meant that he thought about it too.

She took a deep breath, trying to keep her tears at bay.

"So you want me to sit here, waiting?"

He didn't answer.

"Let me ask you something, Daryl. If y'all never came back, how long do you think we'd last? Hm?" She came to stand directly in front of him, forcing his eyes to look into hers, her voice growing softer. "Me, Beth, Carl, Hershel and _Judith_. How long do you think we'd last without _you_ all?"

"You'd be fine," he countered.

"Maybe. For a little while. But if I went with you," she tried reasoning, but she couldn't finish.

"If you came with us, the ones left behind would have even _less_ of a chance."

"Daryl. One more person on your side in Woodbury can't be a bad thing. It can make a difference, and you know it."

He did know it. She was right. But he couldn't risk it. If anything happened to her in Woodbury and he wasn't there to save her, he'd never be able to forgive himself.

"No. _No_." He was growing aggravated, and his voice escalated once more.

"I don't understand," she pleaded, but he cut her off again.

"I've already lost you once," he shouted.

She stilled, taking in his words.

"_Fuck_," he growled, tugging at his hair.

The words hit her like a ton of bricks. She just watched him pacing around like a caged animal.

"You found me. You saved me," she mumbled.

He glanced up at her, feeling like he'd made a breakthrough. She will understand his point now. She will understand that he _had_ saved her from the tombs, but that, in Woodbury, with gunfire and chaos he wouldn't be able to. And the next time she slipped through his fingers would kill him.

But a part of her just became very plainly pissed off.

She approached him, coming to stand directly in front of him, their bodies barely a foot apart. He halted his pacing, his breath a bit labored, and he looked down at her.

"And how do you think _I_ feel, Daryl?"

His face softened with the confusion he felt. He had no idea how she would react to his confession, but he certainly didn't expect her to become defensive.

"Every single time you leave these gates, how do you think _I_ feel?"

He said nothing, he just kept watching her.

"Do you think I like sitting here with nothing better to do than wait for you? Wonder where you are? What you're doing? If you're hurt or alive or dead? Do you think that's _easy_ for me?"

He swallowed. No, he had never thought about any of that. He never expected she'd care so much about any of that.

"I can't…take a _breath_, Daryl, until I see you step out of whatever car you come back in. Until I see for myself you're in one piece."

She shook her head against her threatening tears and continued.

"At least, if I go with you, I'll know exactly where you are. It's the waiting. The waiting just…_kills_ me."

She had hoped she'd made her point, but he said nothing. Instead, he stood there, just as before, looking at her face. Her eyes, her nose, her mouth, her forehead. Every inch of her face, like he was looking for something.

And then she was gone, and he stood in the empty cell block alone.

* * *

They were due to leave for Woodbury in the morning. Carol couldn't sleep that night, playing their conversation over and over again in her mind. Their _argument_.

As dawn broke, her stomach began to turn. She had told Rick briefly before going to bed that she was staying, and he just nodded, knowing that Daryl must have said something to her when they had stormed away from the group earlier that evening. At one point he had heard them yelling.

But she didn't want him to leave like this. They were in a weird type of limbo, and she couldn't leave things the way they were. She had to say goodbye, and wish him well.

She heard some movement in one of the other cells, and knew it must have been him. He was always up before everyone else. She got out of bed and made her way to him as quietly as she could.

The shadow in his doorway alerted him to her presence. He glanced up at her quickly and returned to the bag he was packing.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey."

"You're up early," he commented, his voice devoid of emotion.

"Never went to sleep," she whispered back, not wanting to wake everyone else.

He paused and looked at her then.

She took this as her opening, and made her way into his cell, walking right up to him and wrapping her arms tightly around his shoulders.

He was stunned still, not having expected this from her.

"Please be careful," she whispered into his neck, her breath tickling his skin, the desperation in her voice evident.

The feeling overwhelmed him and he promptly wrapped his arms around her tightly before she could pull away.

When she finally did, she didn't move far, only brought her arms away from him, but kept her body close.

"I promise," he told her.

She nodded, looking down at her fidgeting fingers.

"I just…I had to say goodbye. Just in case," she told him, her eyes still locked on her own hands.

He furrowed his brow as he watched her, unable to help feel the nervousness that she clearly felt.

He didn't want this to be goodbye.

He slowly and tentatively lifted a hand and laid it on her hip, his gaze lingering on the visual of where he was touching her body. She stopped her fidgeting and looked at him. Her eyes softened as she took in the tense look on his face, and smiled softly as his eyes finally met hers.

His other hand then came to rest on her other hip then after seeing on her face that the gesture wasn't unwelcome.

She stepped a little closer.

He stepped a little closer.

And then she placed her hands on his forearms, running them up to his shoulders, and then in towards his neck, and finally reaching his face, gently pulling him just a little closer.

"Don't go," she breathed.

He couldn't move, couldn't blink. He licked his lips before speaking and her eyes darted to his mouth.

"Don't," he whispered, touching his forehead to hers.

"I don't want you to go," she replied. Her eyes were on his face, but his were closed, savouring the moment, the way her words made him feel.

"I gotta."

Their voices were so low, that had their faces been any further apart, the words would have been lost.

"I know. Just thought it was worth a try," she smiled a sad smile, even though his eyes were still shut, and closed the distance between them.

She brought their lips together in a soft, lingering kiss, and she could feel his hands tightening on her hips, pulling her closer still.

She pulled away slowly as they could hear some mumbled "good mornings" a few cells away, keeping their faces close together and running her thumbs along his cheekbones as they looked at one another.

She let one of her hands move down his arm to grasp his hand as she brushed her lips with the fingertips of the other. She squeezed his hand and he squeezed hers back as she turned to leave his cell.

* * *

As the group was getting ready to part ways, Carol stood off to the side, cradling Judith in her arms and watching everyone pack up the car.

Daryl approached Carol's side, softly placing a hand on her back to alert her of his presence.

She looked up at him, the hint of a smile on her face.

"Stay safe," he told her.

"Nine lives, remember?"

* * *

**I hope you liked it! This was one of my favourites so far : )**


	5. Brother

**Your reviews, just so you know, are like Christmas presents. And I love you so much for each and every one : ) I'm trying to respond to them all, but if I haven't, I'm so sorry! And the follows, and the favourites...each one gives me goosebumps.**

**This ficlet takes place in the train car...I feel like maybe this is a sign that I'm getting closer to figuring out a reunion fic! Maybe? Hopefully? I'm trying to bust down these walls, but these showrunners have made it awfully difficult. : S**

**Don't forget that I own nothing, I'm just having fun with someone else's characters...and also don't forget about the Cherokee Rose. THE ROSE, you guys. Daryl didn't have to give Carol anything, no he didn't. But he did. He gave her the most beautiful and perfect thing anyone could have. and THAT, my friends, is something to hang on to. Season 5 will be ours! **

* * *

Carl had finally fallen asleep, sprawled out on the ground of the train car, his head on his father's lap. Michonne and Rick talked in hushed voices, about something he couldn't care less about.

And Daryl. Daryl sat across from them, legs sprawled out in front of him, arms limp at his sides, stripped of his crossbow. Just sitting there, thinking. Because that's all he could do.

The thinking was driving him insane. It made the boxcar feel smaller. There were too many people in there. It was too dark. Too small. Getting smaller and smaller as his thoughts practically suffocated him.

He could barely make out anyone else in there, it was so dark. He could feel his body getting more and more tired. He knew he'd pass out soon, out of sheer exhaustion. This world was a fucked up one, but the time he'd spent with Beth, his time with those fucked up men, and now sitting in a dark train car full of his friends, had proven to be harder than he ever thought his life could get.

He thought about Beth. She was gone now. Dead or alive, he had no idea. He lost her. Another notch on the list of failures. And now he could hear Maggie whimpering in the corner with Glenn, mourning her.

Beth had made him think everything was going to be okay. Made him think things could turn around. They would make it good. They would live again. And then she fucking disappeared.

Little Greene, he'd called her, back at the prison, earning him a smack on the arm from Maggie as she asked if he was insinuating that she was the _big_ Greene.

That had been a good day. He remembered it vividly now. It was raining, and Carol had been stirring a pot of some sort of stew, talking to Beth about how to make the most out of the little food they had. Giving her advice, teaching her. Like she always did. Beth was like her shadow, learning everything Carol could teach her. How to cook for their group, who liked and hated which foods the most, tricks for washing their filthy clothes, how to care for an infant. She was becoming her own woman, earning her own place in the group.

Beth was chopping up the deer Daryl had brought back, preparing it for cooking.

"Be good to that deer, Little Greene," Daryl had told her. He was always protective of the game he brought back, not wanting it to go to waste. Especially the big ones.

She smiled up at him and glanced at Carol, who smiled back at her to reassure her that she was doing it properly. Keeping all the right pieces, discarding the ones they couldn't eat.

"Wait a second," Maggie had chimed in, her tone laced with mock irritation. She and Glenn were folding laundry at a table nearby.

That's when the teasing had started. The laughing.

Daryl couldn't believe now, sitting in that damn train car, that it was even the same lifetime. Too many people were missing from that picture now. Hershel. Beth. Judith. Merle.

Carol.

He knew his thoughts would bring him back to her, they always did. No matter what he did to keep her out of his head, nothing worked.

His eyes were on Rick now, even though he could barely make out the man's outline.

Daryl was too tired to fight. So he let it all wash over him.

He thought about Carol; wondered where she was. If she was dead. Or undead. If she was alone. If she'd found people. Horrible people like Joe and his men.

No. He couldn't go there. The mere thought of it made him want to be sick, and this little dark train car full of people couldn't handle him being sick. He swallowed it back, adjusting himself against the wall, as though the movement would shake the thought out of his head.

And he stared at the outline of the man who called him 'brother'. What did that word even mean anymore? Why were these men who called themselves his 'brother' always letting him down in the harshest of ways?

Is that what it is to be a 'brother'?

He wondered if Rick thought about Carol. And his eyes travelled down to the sleeping boy in his lap. Did Carl think about Carol? Did he know all that the woman did for him?

He thought of the time Carol almost died, when he rescued her from the tombs. The love and support she gave to Rick in the time of his greatest loss. The care she gave to _his_ children, as though they were her own, even after she was barely recovered herself from near death. Caring for a newborn that wasn't even hers, doing everything she could for Carl to help him with his grief.

Daryl looked back up at Rick then.

Rick knew her. He _knew_ her. And he cast her aside as though she was some common criminal.

And the only thought that played through his mind over and over like a broken record as he watched Rick, was one of Carol.

She had always thought the shower room was too drafty for Judith to have her bath there. So she would boil water and let it cool to the perfect temperature, bathing Jude in a bucket in the common area. She'd lay out the girl's towel first, have it all set up to wrap her in for when they were done. Laid out her diaper and pajamas, and had a bottle ready. All to minimize the baby's discomfort. All for the baby.

He was sitting at a table near her one night, fiddling with his arrows, keeping her company while she tended to the baby.

She spoke to Judith softly as she bathed her, naming each tiny body part that she was washing, singing her little songs. And when Jude came out of the water and began fussing as the cold air hit her skin, Carol promptly wrapped her up tightly in the towel, cooing about what a good girl she was.

And then she cradled her, as Daryl watched them out of the corner of his eye, speaking to her in the sweetest voice he'd ever heard, telling her how much she loved her, how she was beautiful just like her mama.

She placed Judith down on the table top then, drying her up and rubbing baby cream all over her body. He knew now that the cream was an important step. She explained to him once that Jude had dry skin, and that if it got too dry it would be itchy and aggravate the baby, causing her to be fussy. And so he always made sure to look for baby cream when he went out on runs. It was a reflex, like diapers and formula.

As she rubbed the cream on Judy's tiny arms, Carl came in, nodding briefly at Daryl in greeting.

"Carol, have you seen my hat?" he asked her.

She smiled. "You left it outside, so I brought it in before the rain started. It's on your bed."

He smiled back. "Thanks." And then he left in the direction of his cell to retrieve it.

"Don't forget to bring me your dirty clothes," she called after him. They heard a muffled "okay" as he retreated.

As Daryl sat there, watching the exchange, it had struck him what the interaction meant to him. The whole thing – the bath, the cream, the hat, the laundry.

_Mother_.

He watched Carol openly then, feeling so proud of her he thought he might burst. He thought of Lori and how happy she'd be to see the care that Carol gave to her children.

And he thought of his own mother, and the little things she gave him. She wasn't like Carol, not at all, but she was her own version of a mother. She gave him a sense of comfort, in her way. Taken from him far too soon.

But Carol was a real mother, in every sense of the word, by every definition. And he would make sure Carl and Jude were grateful for her. He would make _sure_ of it. Thanked their lucky stars every god damn day that he had found her alive.

"What are you lookin' at?" Carol asked him teasingly.

He was brought out of his thoughts abruptly, realizing he was still openly watching her as she cradled a fully-clothed Judith now and fed her a bottle.

She had walked towards him then, sitting beside him at the table. He angled himself towards her.

He looked down at the baby and ran a finger gently from her soft little temple down to her chin. Carol smiled at the gesture, warmed by his affection towards the little one. Judith let out a little humming sound.

He shrugged, because, what could he possibly tell her? _You're everything to these kids. They're lucky to have you. We're all lucky to have you. You're the strongest person I've ever known. We need you. You're everything to _me.

It was all too heavy.

"Nothin'," he settled on. "Just lookin'."

He should have told her.

Rick called him 'brother'. Daryl thought of the evidence.

All the times Daryl had kept his mouth shut about how selfish he thought Lori to be for keeping Shane's baby and forcing that burden on her husband.

The time Rick told them all he killed Shane, but still Daryl stuck by him, trusting him with his life.

The time Rick asked him to interrogate a kid on Hershel's farm, and Daryl complied without question.

The time Rick lost his fucking mind after Lori died and completely checked out. Daryl had given him space. Let him grieve in whatever way he needed to. Never once judged him for checking out like he did.

The time Rick refused to allow Merle into the prison, refusing to make it work for Daryl. And how Daryl _still_ came back like that didn't matter.

The time he supported Rick's wrong decision to surrender Michonne to the Governor for the possibility of their safety.

Michonne. The woman Rick was speaking with in hushed tones now, huddled up close.

Daryl almost scoffed out loud at the sight.

All those mistakes, and Daryl stood by him. Loyal. Unwavering. _That_ is what it is to be a 'brother', Daryl knew now.

He _was _Rick's brother. Absolutely. And what had Daryl gotten for it in return?

And so he sat there, tilting his head back to rest on the wall of the small, dark train car, and allowed it all to consume him, devour him. Grief, sadness, anger, guilt, betrayal.

He was thankful for the darkness then, and let the tears flow.

* * *

**What did you think? I'm actually quite curious about this one in particular, not sure why. **

**And about my theory re: Daryl knowing all about what Carol did before Rick told him...I'm working on writing that, too. I think I'm just so obsessed with Caryl that I'll do anything to make things right between them, ha!**


	6. Teacher

**Hello hello!**

**I've received some more beautiful reviews, and with each one I blush a little more and get all giddy and I just don't know what to do with myself. Thank you!**

**This story takes place at the quarry...nothing huge, just a little piece, but I mean, they barely knew each other back then so we couldn't expect much. I hope you enjoy! I'm hoping to get another up soon (today? let's hope for today). **

**Anything you recognize doesn't belong to me : )**

**Oh, and one more thing: Beth brought up Carol TWICE in their moonshine ep, guys. Once with her actual name, and the other time about Sophia. I, personally, don't think either of those mentions were mandatory...just a little tiny scrap of something for us to latch on to. Daryl hasn't forgotten about our Carol, I just know it! **

**oxox**

* * *

"Need some help?"

His eyes snapped up at the sound of her voice. It shouldn't have startled him, really. She was so damn quiet and shy. The shock came from someone talking to him at all.

She looked almost terrified to be near him, and her voice didn't exactly sound confident, though it never really did. How could it? Just about every time she opened her mouth, her husband practically ripped her throat right out.

_Asshole_.

His hands kept working on the squirrels as he eyed her. She fidgeted nervously.

"I'm good," he said tersely, turning his gaze back to his work.

She opened and closed her mouth a couple times, unsure of how to continue, and it wasn't until a few moments passed that he noticed she hadn't moved.

He stopped his hands from skinning the squirrel in his hand and looked up at her once more, but didn't say anything.

He made out the faint outline of a bruise peeking out of her shirt sleeve, high up on her bicep. He swallowed hard and ground his teeth together.

"Somethin' you want?" he bit out.

"I, um, I just thought maybe you could show me what to do with the meat when you bring it back," she replied nervously.

He only continued to eye her.

"I mean, it's only fair that someone else does the work after you've been out hunting for us all day long. I can take them off your hands." She swallowed, not knowing what to say after he still didn't respond. So she tagged on, "if you like."

He took another beat, looking between her face and that bruise on her arm. That bruise pissed him off. The bruise on _her_ pissed him off. It brought him right back to his shitty childhood, seeing those very same bruises all over his mama. But it wasn't just her who had them, it was him too. And Merle. They were all at the mercy of his asshole father.

The thoughts made him ache for that little Peletier girl. They'd seen the same things, the two of them. Heard the same fights. The same loud noises. Felt the same helpless, nauseating pain day after day.

And this woman, this _Carol_, would probably get in shit for even talking to him.

He glanced around, looking for her sick husband, making sure he wasn't watching. Not that he was scared of him; he really didn't give a shit if Ed Fucking Peletier wanted to kick his ass. He'd hand it right back to him, ten times harder. No, he glanced around for _her_.

"Have a seat," he conceded.

She sat directly across from him, on an overturned bucket, looking at him expectantly. He began rooting around for another animal to hand to her.

"I'm Carol, by the way," she said shyly.

He paused once more, looking at her, his face aggravated. "I know who you are," he spat.

He didn't want to be so mean, but a part of him felt like it would be safer for her this way, if he was mean. She would stay away, and her prick of a husband wouldn't have another reason to beat her senseless.

But he didn't offer his name, either, even though she already knew it. The Dixons were no strangers to this camp. They were no one's favourites, by any means, but they were certainly known.

He handed her a squirrel and set aside the one he was currently working on, grabbing himself a fresh one.

He eyed the squirrel sitting in her lap, and glanced at her expectant face before reaching to the ground beside him and handing her a knife. Of course she wouldn't have a knife. Ed Peletier wouldn't ever think to give her a means of defending herself from the fucking walking corpses. Or maybe he had thought about it – maybe he just didn't want to.

"Alright, turn it over like this, start cuttin' right here," he turned the squirrel over and pointed the tip of his knife at the first incision site.

She watched his movements and mirrored them.

"Don't go too hard when you cut through the skin. You don't wanna fuck up the whole inside of the damn thing," he instructed.

She attempted the first cut, following his advice, but struggled to poke the knife through.

"Bit harder 'n that," he smirked.

She looked up at him, slightly embarrassed, but smiled slightly when she saw the humour on his face.

Daryl gave quiet directions, showing her each step along the way, and she echoed them perfectly. Her eyes were focussed, her face set in concentration, and he couldn't help but look at her.

She made him feel…_something_. He didn't know what, couldn't imagine what it could possibly be. But he liked it.

She was listening to him, following his instructions diligently, taking the task seriously. And it was the first time in probably his entire _life_ that he didn't feel ridiculed.

He was teaching her something, and she was learning. Because she wanted to. Wanted to sit near him and watch and listen and do.

Daryl didn't know this woman, not at all, aside from her name and the fact that she suffered at the hands of her asshole husband, but still he felt proud of her.

Not one other person in this whole damn camp had offered to help him with his kills. Help him with the grunt work of skinning and cutting and getting blood all over themselves.

But Carol was a survivor, it was clear as day. She did what she had to in order to survive, just like he did, even before the world turned to shit.

She was focussed on her work, hands bloody, and she had no idea he was even looking at her, until she looked up to ask him a question.

She looked taken aback by the sight of his eyes on her, but cleared her throat and directed her thoughts to the task at hand.

"What about this piece, right here?" She held it up between two fingers. "We don't eat this, do we?"

He took it from her, their bloody fingers brushing together slightly, and Carol felt ashamed of herself at noticing how gently his touch was. How gentle he could probably be.

"Nah, we don't eat this. You're right. And this," he reached forward, using his own knife to extract another piece from her squirrel, holding it in the palm of his hand for her to examine. "We don't eat this either."

She took it from his hand, inspecting the size and shape and texture with her fingers. She nodded, setting it down with the discarded pieces, and they continued on in silence, save for Daryl's quiet instruction.

It was the first time in his life Daryl figured out that being around people didn't have to be a bad thing. They didn't have to be assholes. _He _didn't have to be an asshole. Sometimes you could just _be_ with someone, and you didn't even have to talk to enjoy their company.

"You're doin' real good," he mumbled.

She glanced up at him, broken from her trance for a brief instant, and smiled broadly at him.

And that's when he realized she never really did smile. Ever. It was foreign on her face, but it was beautiful. And he'd put it there.

_Beautiful_.

"I must have a great teacher," she replied with that smile, cutting up the last bit of meat for cooking and setting it in the bowl they'd had.

"Is that it? Am I don't with this one?"

He nodded, half-smiling back at her, unable to hide his amusement at her enthusiasm. "Yeah. You're done."

She tossed the remaining squirrel skin down with the discarded pieces and sighed, feeling good about it. She had just done something she'd never done before, with a man of the likes she'd never expected to be around, let alone enjoy his company. But she did, very much.

"Any more I can practice on?" she asked, leaning forward to look at the heap beside him.

She noticed then that his eyes flickered over her shoulder, and the smirk he wore disappeared instantly.

Carol turned to see what had upset him and saw her husband, standing near their tent, watching them. Glaring at them. He wasn't happy.

She faced Daryl once more, looking down into her lap.

"Don't wanna make him mad," Daryl mumbled. He supposed she'd have to leave now, go back to her husband, and take whatever it was that he'd give to her.

But she knew what he was saying.

"He'll be _mad_ anyway."

_He'll hit me anyway._

She held out her hand, palm turned upwards, and he looked at it.

"Another one. I think I'll be even better this time."

He looked between her hand and her eyes, unsure for a moment, before deciding. He smirked and handed her another one, and they started the process over again. Less instructions this time, and more quiet.

He would look at her though, now and then, and glance back at the husband who was still glaring. He'd sit here all night with her, skinning squirrels, just to prolong it a bit longer. Just a little bit longer before she had to go back to him. And maybe while he stalled, Ed Fucking Peletier would trip and fall down a ravine and break his fucking neck.


	7. 29 Days Without an Accident

**Hi y'all! **

**This one takes place in the prison, one day before the season premiere of season 4. Not that the day particularly matters, but I loved the way Daryl and Carol were with one another in the premiere, and I wanted this to be as close to then as possible before everything went to hell, just so they'd be more established. Also, it's pure fluff...much lighter than what we're used to with these folks on this show.**

**Once again, I own nothing : )**

**CARYL ON, EVERYONE! oxoxox**

* * *

Carol sat on the steel table, swinging her legs like a little kid on an overgrown chair. She looked around the drab prison block, wondering what the room would have been used for in the days she'd never imagined herself setting foot inside a penitentiary.

It was just a room, with a few cells lined up against one wall, steel tables lined up against the opposite wall, under the windows now, where the group had put them. There were two doors, one on the opposing walls on either sides of the cells, and neither was secure.

So she sat, legs swinging, a bag of stale M&amp;Ms in her hand, as she wondered about the possible function of this strange room.

The door on the wall to her left opened then, and she quickly hid the bag of candy behind her back.

It was Daryl, passing through, she presumed.

"Hey," he said casually.

She smiled.

"What are you doing in here?" he asked. Everyone else was outside, enjoying the beautiful day, spirits high.

"Enjoying the quiet," she whispered.

He nodded, eyebrows raising in appreciation of her intentions.

Carol had welcomed each and every person from Woodbury with open arms, and took care of so much around the prison, that sometimes he forgot how much she had liked to just be away from it all once in a while. Like him.

"Where are you off to?" she asked him in return.

He smiled and spoke low. "Somewhere quiet."

She grinned.

"I'm a bad person," she told him, her smile lingering.

He stepped in front of her, smirking and curious.

"Oh, yeah. The worst," he replied, though his agreement was sarcastic.

She extended her leg and nudged him in the thigh with her foot. He chuckled and, to her surprise, he took a step closer. He was almost touching her knees.

"_Why_ are you a bad person?" He rolled his eyes as he articulated his question, knowing she'd tell him anyways.

Carol reached behind her and presented the family-sized bag of M&amp;Ms.

He looked at her reproachfully, but that half-smile was still there.

"I took it," she confessed, scrunching her nose. "I took it before anyone else could see, and I _know_ Carl loves these. I didn't even let any of the kids have any. Bad Carol."

Daryl's smile grew, making hers do the same.

She loved seeing him like this. In the last few months, things had calmed down, and Daryl was able to just _be_. She loved this side of him. She loved every side of him, really. But this particular one made all the other ones even better.

"Bad, bad Carol," he snickered, and moved to prop himself up on the table beside her, laying his crossbow down.

He was staying. His weapon was off. That was serious for Daryl Dixon.

And she blushed just a tiny bit at how close he sat to her. How their thighs were practically touching.

"Mind havin' some company? Or am I ruining the _quiet_," he whispered the last word.

She shook her head. "You _are_ the quiet."

She handed him the bag.

"I ain't havin' any of those. I don't wanna be an accomplice to your offense."

She nudged him with her shoulder.

"I won't tell, I promise."

He swiped the bag from her, giving her a playful side-eye. He dumped a heap of candy into his palm and ate them all in one shot.

"Watch it," she scolded, smacking his arm with the back of her hand. "Don't eat them _all_!"

"Won't even share with the kids, but you're sharin' with me. I should feel pretty special, I reckon," he joked.

She took the candy back and popped a couple of M&amp;Ms into her mouth, nodding.

"You should. And you best remember that when you're putting your laundry in that bin. You have the filthiest clothes out of everyone. Do I need to write down my laundry schedule for you?"

He nudged his knee against hers.

"Nah, I know which day is your laundry day. And there ain't no way I'm lettin' anyone else touch my shit, so deal with it."

"Wouldn't have it any other way. There aren't many of us privileged individuals who get to clean and fold your underwear," she teased.

"'_Many_'? Who else is cleaning my drawers?"

She giggled. "Just me, I promise."

She looked at him then and he was looking back. They both smiled, and her stomach fluttered.

Things between them had been so easy lately. It was strange. Nice. There was so little to distract them from what was developing between them – what had been developing for a while – that Carol almost felt like a teenager around him sometimes.

And this was definitely one of those times.

In a moment of pure boldness, Carol reached over and took his hand, bringing it into her lap and fiddling with his fingers.

He made no move to pull away. His gaze was on the sight of her little hands, running her fingertips along his, feeling the rightness of it all.

"You best not tell anyone about this candy, Daryl Dixon," she chastized in a quiet whisper.

"What are you gonna do about it?" he teased, his own voice low.

"I will shoot you and make it look like an accident," she joked back, leaning her shoulder against his just a little bit more.

"Cross my heart," he promised. And then he turned his hand over and slid his fingers in between hers.

She looked down at their interlaced fingers and then back up at him. And he was looking at her. And the look in his eyes made her nervous in a way she'd never felt before. And although her eyes were fixated on his as though she were in a trance, she didn't miss the way his flickered down to her mouth.

Her breath hitched.

"_Daryl, you in here?"_

They heard Rick's call from the next room and she jolted at the sound, though Daryl's hand clasped tighter on hers before she could pull away in surprise.

"Dammit," she mumbled.

He smirked and moved to pick up his crossbow as their hands slid apart from one another.

Daryl stood up, holding his hand out to her to help her hop down and she took it.

Carol grabbed the bag of candy with her free hand and they lazily let their hands break free after a few steps towards the door.

He held the door open for her and she stepped through, noticing Rick and Carl walking away from them, almost outside, and she assumed they were taking their Daryl-search elsewhere.

"Rick," Daryl called, and the Grimes men turned then, heading back towards them.

"Here, found these for ya," Carol said, dropping the half-eaten bag of M&amp;Ms into Carl's hand as she passed, and the boy hollered in excitement.

"Thanks, Carol!" he said enthusiastically.

She turned around and smiled at him and flickered her eyes to Daryl as she continued on outside to join everyone else.

And Daryl only rolled his eyes at her retreating figure, his smirk lingering as he tried to pay attention to Rick's words.


	8. Broken

**Hello bunnies! (and I mean that in the sweetest, most non-Lizzie way possible)**

**This one is very very short, but something little that had popped into my head when I had seen trailers for the second half of season 4. Also, the song I reference in it is called "Who's Gonna Shoe Your Pretty Little Feet" by the Everly Brothers. Norah Jones and Billie Joe recently covered it, and it's such a sweet song. Give it a listen!**

**I probably won't be back with any more stories until next week, and if I can get another one up today, I will...for you. Because I love you. 3**

**(any recognizable characters or situations aren't mine, blah blah blah...) **

**oxox**

* * *

"Do you remember that song Carol used to sing to Judith all the time?"

She may as well have stabbed a knife through his chest.

Since they'd fled the prison, Daryl had been silent. He'd been numb. He hadn't had any desire to do much of anything, and Beth's voice had been grating on his nerves since she decided they needed to fill every second with useless fucking chatter.

She'd tried everything to get him to talk to her. To react. Do _something_.

Nothing worked.

Now he was lying down next to the fire they'd built, and Beth was trying to draw him out, yet again.

But the sound of her name just made him more…nothing. Because she was gone, even before their home got taken from them, and what the hell did it even matter anymore what song _she_ used to sing to Judith? Judith was gone too, probably dead. None of that shit _mattered_ anymore.

He said nothing, knowing Beth would just keep talking anyways.

"I didn't see Carol when the fighting started. Did you? Did you see her? Did she get on the bus?"

He wouldn't even look at her. Didn't even acknowledge that he'd heard her, just like all the other times. Though this time, underneath the surface, his blood was boiling and his nerves were shaking and he'd never wanted her to just _shut up_ so badly.

"Judy loved that song. Remember, Daryl?" She pushed and pushed.

And he just tensed.

"She'd put our names in the song. _You_ remember. You were always in it."

Nothing.

"And remember when Judith got old enough to recognize us, and she'd look at each person as Carol sang about them? Remember how exciting that was? We were all so proud of her…"

She let her voice trail off, hoping beyond hope that she'd spark something in Daryl. Bring him out of this catatonic state he was in.

But he didn't move, and he didn't talk, and he didn't look in her direction.

So she gave up. For a little while. He knew she'd start back up again.

He just lay there, propping his head up with his arm, staring at the stars. And if it wasn't bad before, now that Beth had opened her big mouth and mentioned _her_, his ears were pounding at the rhythm of his heartbeat and it was all he could think about.

_Where is she?_

And that's when Beth started fucking singing. Singing that god damn song, and the knife she'd figuratively stuck in his chest was twisting through him and the pain was almost nauseating.

_"Who's gonna shoe your pretty little feet?_

_Who's gonna glove your little hands?_

_Who's gonna kiss your ruby red lips?"_

Who fucking _cared_ about any of this anymore?

_"Daddy's gonna shoe your pretty little feet._

_Carl's gonna glove your little hands._

_Bethie's gonna kiss your ruby red lips."_

And so he thought about it, let the images assault his mind. The way she'd walk around the cell block they all slept in, waving Jude's little hands at everyone as they passed, as her soft singing echoed through the prison.

They'd all just go quiet then, while Carol sang the baby to sleep.

_"Hershel's gonna shoe your pretty little feet._

_Glenn's gonna glove your little hands._

_Maggie's gonna kiss your ruby red lips."_

They would sit there, whoever was around while Jude fell asleep in Carol's arms, and smile to themselves as they went about their business, giving the baby girl kisses as Carol passed them, or little touches to her cheek, her hands, her feet.

And she always – always – said his name before hers, while she sang. Every single time, she'd lump them together.

_"Michonne's gonna shoe your pretty little feet._

_Daryl's gonna glove your little hands._

_And I'm gonna kiss your ruby red lips."_

He liked to think Judith was with Carol, somehow, since she obviously wasn't with Beth. He hoped she was with someone who knew how to take care of her, protect her.

Maybe Carol had come back, but it was too late. Maybe she got to Judith. Found someone.

But he couldn't do anything. He could just lie there, listening to that fucking song, no less numb than he had been an hour ago.


	9. Barricade

**Alright, folks. I am kind of excited about this one, not sure why, but something about it has me all excited. So, I really hope you like it! Your feedback is always much appreciated, and again, I can't thank you enough for the follows/favourites/reviews. Really and truly. Thank you : )))**

**This little guy takes place post-farm and pre-prison...mainly because it just fit there, not for any reason in particular.**

**I also feel like I should emphasize that I am _not_ an action writer. Not at all. Not even a little bit. So, wish me luck on this one.**

**As much as I wish I could take credit for these incredible characters, I cannot. So any and all people and situations you may recognize do not belong to me. **

**Oh, and also...remember the way Daryl was watching Carol at Dale's funeral? Have I mentioned this before? Because, well, I kind of feel like that look is everything. Caryl will be fine, you guys. We'll all be fine. Stay strong, fellow Carylers! **

* * *

He knew it. He just _knew _it.

He had told Rick not to bring her along, but Rick had insisted.

_She knows what Lori needs. She knows what the baby needs. We need her._

Rick had repeated those words to him over and over since last night after dinner when he had told Daryl that she was coming with them on their run.

Daryl was beyond pissed off, that much was clear. At first Carol had thought it was because he thought she'd slow them down. Would be a burden above all else.

She didn't realize that the real reason he didn't want her there was because of the danger. It was all around them, all the time, and the chances of her not coming back with them was far greater than those of her making it out alive. Unscathed.

She was his responsibility. Not because she needed a babysitter, and not because he thought so little of her that he took it upon himself to make sure she didn't fuck everything up. The real reason was that, in some twisted way, he felt like she was _his_.

She was his friend, absolutely. But there was something else there. Some other level of understanding that no one else would get. They were outsiders, the two of them. Bound together by the shitty lives they lived before. And in some cruel, bitter joke the universe was playing, having the dead to contend with was almost a blessing to them. To him.

She'd awakened something in him that he'd never knew existed. Brought things out in him he never knew were there.

She believed in him. Trusted him. Thought he was _good_.

At first he thought she was fucking crazy, but after a while he realized maybe he wanted to be that man. And what was stopping him now? Not one damn thing.

So he tried.

But all the trying and changing had brought along all these fucking feelings with it, and Daryl was quickly realizing that when you cared about people at all, it complicated everything too fucking much.

And here they were, in this town he'd never been to, trying to find what they could for Lori and the baby.

Rick and T-Dog were scavenging for food, blankets, anything useful. It was the middle of the fucking winter and life for the group had basically sucked since they'd left the farm. They needed anything and everything. So that's what they looked for.

Daryl stayed with Carol and refused to let anyone else make a run with her. He wanted to be there, be in control. Make sure she was taken care of properly. Make sure he could see her. So while she rooted through the baby store they'd found, he kept watch.

He'd look back at her now and then as she sorted through the baby clothes, tossing aside the fancier stuff in favour of more practical, warm-looking pajamas and things. It was then that he knew she really was the right person for the job. Beth probably would have been looking for cute little baby outfits.

But Carol was a mother. She knew what baby things would be a waste of time. And he was glad she wasn't wasting their time with stupid shit. She was on a mission, she was taking this so seriously.

He had gotten past the idea of her walking right into a dangerous, potentially deadly situation. It wasn't about that anymore.

Now, what was irritating him the most was that she wouldn't look at him. Wouldn't talk to him.

After his little outburst at dinner last night about how she was the last person they should bring, she had glared at him hard, her feelings clearly hurt. And he felt guilty. Horribly guilty. He didn't mean to hurt her feelings, didn't mean for it to come out like that.

But he didn't know how to take it back, how to fix it. How to tell her the real reasons why he didn't want her to come, why he wanted her to stay safe in the house they were holed up in for a couple days.

And the longer he stewed on it and failed to grow some balls and fix it, she'd grown more and more angry. She ignored him for the rest of the evening and went to bed without her usual whisper of 'goodnight' that she'd always tell him with a semblance of a smile. Or as close to a smile as any of them could get these days.

When they woke this morning and ate what little there was to eat in the kitchen of that house, she had ignored him. Ignored him the entire way into town. Went to sit in the back when he slipped into the driver's seat.

And it ate away at him, having her be mad at him. But he chose to focus and make sure she was okay, instead of telling her. They could talk about it later. Now was the time to focus.

She had loaded up a few shopping baskets and handed him one silently before grabbing the other two and heading outside, without saying a word. Without even looking at him.

They took them to the truck bed, where they had parked just on the top of the little hill at the edge of town, and she leaned against the truck as they waited for Rick and T to return.

Daryl came to stand in front of her, but she kept her gaze low, refusing to look him in the eye.

After a moment, he went to lean on the truck right beside her, but still she didn't move. Didn't say a word.

He looked down at her then, and watched her worrying her thumb nail, one arm wrapped around her torso.

And that's when he heard it.

The moaning.

He stiffened and looked up, past her, and saw them.

He grabbed her by the arm and began dragging her, though she resisted at first, trying to pull away from him.

"Daryl –" she bit out, but he yanked harder.

"We have to go, _now_," he said urgently, glancing back at the herd that was coming their way. There was no way to count how many. Fifty? Sixty?

She looked in the direction of his terrified glance and, luckily, the scream she felt coming was caught in her throat by the most crippling fear that had now become familiar to her.

So she went with him without a word.

He dragged her across the street to the bank and tried pushing through the revolving doors. They were stuck. He pushed harder. They wouldn't budge.

"_Fuck_," he muttered under his breath.

He looked towards the approaching herd. Looked at her. And the quaking fear he saw in her eyes pushed him faster into action. She was breathing hard, and it was only getting worse. She was going to freak the fuck out. He grabbed her by the shoulders and spun her around, pushing her into the recess of the revolving door that wouldn't fucking move, and covered her mouth with his hand.

He blocked her body with his, facing her. Pushing her further into the glass. His hand still pressed against her mouth, and he looked her in the eyes, imploring her to keep quiet.

He hoped they'd walk right past them. Maybe the dead people wouldn't notice them in that nook. They were fucking idiots, it's not like they'd be looking around for them.

They could hear them approaching. Those dragging steps. The loud, dry, blood-chilling moans.

And she started freaking out again, her breath coming harder and faster through her nose, her eyes darting around frantically.

So he pressed into her once more, getting her attention, and when she looked at him, he mouthed the word, "quiet".

Her wide eyes stared into his as she willed herself to calm down. Slow her breathing. And as the dead approached, she was succeeding somehow.

She closed her eyes for a beat, and when she opened them, they searched his out immediately. And she nodded slightly, telling him she'd be fine. She was okay. It would be fine.

He took his hand away from her mouth slowly, keeping his eyes on hers.

They were almost there, the walkers. And as he heard them walking behind him, past him, he reached down as slowly as he possibly could so as not to draw attention to them, and brought his hand down to her hip.

He fumbled there for a second, searching out her knife. He felt the handle, it was under her shirt, and so he lifted it, so slowly, and wrapped his hand around the handle of her knife. His fingers brushed the skin of her stomach as he removed it from his sheath, and her breath hitched as she watched his face, using it to keep her calm.

She had been clutching at his shirt with her hands for dear life, so he pried one off and slipped her the knife. She took it, understanding what he was telling her. She needed to watch them. Make sure none of the walkers saw them. And if they did, she'd have to do something.

He placed his hands on her waist, steadying them, keeping her still.

Her eyes moved past him, over his shoulder, though he kept watching her face, ready to steady her again if she started to lose it, using her eyes to gauge her. And he stayed pressed up against her, blocking her from the walkers that were just mere feet away from them.

And then one of them saw them. Turned away from the group and began limping towards them.

He saw her eyes widen a bit and she shifted slightly beneath him, raising her right arm carefully above his shoulder. She knew exactly what she wanted to do, but it had to work. She had one chance. And just as the walker opened its disgusting mouth and lunged at Daryl, she plunged her knife into its temple.

The walker sunk down immediately as she thrust her left arm under Daryl's armpit and caught it, bringing her right arm under Daryl's opposite side swiftly and catching the walker with both hands, holding it up like an infant under its arms. Her knife was still in its head. She had nothing now. This had to work.

Carol held the corpse upright so that it was covering Daryl's backside, struggling with the weight of it, her face twisting with her effort. Her arms began to shake as she held on to the dead man, hoping beyond hope that it would mask their scent from the others.

She watched vigilantly as the heard walked past, paying them no attention.

Carol chanced a glance up at Daryl, and he was still watching her, still pressed against her, encouraging her with the gleam in his eyes that seemed to tell her she'd done the right thing.

So she kept watching the walkers walk. Slowly. So slowly. Struggling with the weight of the dead man she held up.

Once they had all gone and she could no longer see them, she made to move, but Daryl shook his head just barely.

Not yet. Just wait.

Once they were sure they could get out of their nook without drawing attention to themselves, Daryl nodded to her and she dropped the walker, gasping as quietly as she could at the pain shooting through her arms.

Daryl backed away from her a half-step, running his hands along her arms, up and down and back again, in awe at what they'd just done. What _she'd_ just done.

She leaned back on the glass of the revolving door, gasping for breath as his hands moved on her arms, her eyes closed.

He stepped away from her, and the moment his hands left her body she opened her eyes, her breath slowing, and watched him reach down and pull her knife from the dead man's head.

Daryl wiped off the blood on his pants before returning the knife to its sheath on her hip, making sure to keep her shirt tucked behind it so she could get to it easier.

And then he took her hand and pulled her gently away from the glass, linking their fingers together for a moment.

"You saved my life," he said softly.

She exhaled sharply, her mouth turned up just barely at the corner. "I guess we're even," she panted.

"C'mere," he muttered, sliding his hand up to her elbow and pulling her forward. Then he threw his arm over her shoulder and she wrapped hers around his waist, and together they made their way back to the pick-up.

Rick and T-Dog rolled out from under a nearby car, walking towards them with wide eyes.

They had been watching. They'd seen Daryl and Carol disappear into the nook of the revolving door, and then their view was blocked by the passing herd, and they had wondered if their friends would emerge once the herd had passed.

Rick threw his arms around Carol and pulled her into a tight hug before ushering her into the back of the truck.

Daryl sat next to her on the way back, reaching over and squeezing her hand tightly in his from the moment the car began moving until it stopped.

No one spoke.

And Carol stared out her window, feeling exhausted, feeling terrified, feeling proud of herself, and held tight to the hand of the man beside her.

* * *

**Happy Mothers' Day weekend, everyone! oxox**


	10. Mother

**Hello there! I am back with another little ficlet that I hope you'll enjoy : )**

**This one takes place at the quarry, and it's one I actually find quite depressing (shocking, I know, TWD is usually so uplifting) : P**

**Also, here's reason #684 to keep the Caryl faith alive: I really believe that Daryl and Carol were separated for a good reason. Maybe they needed to overcome certain things without one another. Carol needed to face Tyreese without Daryl's protection, and Daryl needed to face his past without Carol so that when he came back to her, they could move forward together. And now that the torture of them being separated has been drawn out so much, it's making us nervous. But let's not be nervous! They'll find each other again, and it will be fabulous : ) (note to TWD writers: the longer you keep us waiting, the more spectacular this has to be, sooooo...be quick about it).**

**Thank you all SO much for reading, it means the world! oxoxox**

* * *

"Sophia!"

Carol called loudly to her daughter, her voice coming out much more shaky and urgent than she had intended.

She couldn't help it. When she'd seen Sophia near their tent and realized who was standing there with a hand on her shoulder, talking to her in a hushed tone, his gaze levelled with hers, she had done a double-take and set her iron down immediately.

Sophia whipped her head towards her mother, and Carol had already begun her swift walk towards them, effectively halting whatever was going on.

Lately it had just become one more thing she needed to be wary of. One more element of protection she needed to bestow upon her baby girl.

Ed removed his hand from his daughter's shoulder, straightening up and eyeing Carol menacingly as she approached.

Everyone within earshot had stopped what they were doing at the sudden disturbance to the quiet. All eyes were watching them through a half-baked attempt at seeming casual. The truth was that everyone knew what Ed Peletier did to his wife; what kind of family they were.

Carol didn't even care that everyone was looking – or trying not to look. She didn't care. She did what she had to for Sophia. Always had. Always would. No one else really mattered.

"Sweetheart, why don't you go finish up your school work, and Lori will take you and Carl down to the water for a swim before dinner." She worked at keeping her voice calm for her little girl, smoothing down Sophia's hair lovingly as she tried to hide her true intentions of keeping her away from her own father.

Sophia only nodded, her young mind half understanding what was going on. She knew something was off about her daddy, the way he looked at her. He made her uncomfortable. But he was her daddy. You're not supposed to be scared of your daddy.

Ed was looking at Sophia lately, in a way that made Carol's skin crawl. The man ignored his daughter for the better part of her life, and Carol had always wished it wasn't so. But now that she was finally seeing the alternative – some sort of acknowledgement of their daughter's existence – she coveted that neglect. She wanted it back the way it was. It was so much better than whatever _this_ was.

All Sophia knew was that her mother was doing her a favour. She felt relieved. Every single time her mama came around to interrupt whatever interaction she had with her daddy, Sophia felt relieved.

The girl made her way towards Carl and Lori at her mother's wishes, and Carol's hand lingered on her shoulder until she stepped far enough away that it slipped off. Carol's gaze stayed on her daughter's retreating form for a beat longer as she took a steadying breath and turned back to face her husband.

She knew what was coming now. She knew what he'd wanted with Sophia, and she'd intercepted. He wasn't done, though. He wouldn't let it go. And now she would take the brunt of it.

But she'd be damned if she'd be one to stand back and let him lay a finger on her baby girl. She'd take it all for Sophia, every single time.

And Ed was staring at her hard. Mean.

Carol stared back, her confidence fading with each passing second that his glare bore into her.

He knew what she was doing. Every time he went near his daughter, Carol distracted the girl with one task or another, keeping him away from her. Gave Sophia any excuse to get away. Every. Single. Time.

And he let it happen, never forced anything on Sophia. Never hit her, never laid a threatening finger on her or pushed when Carol would intercept. No, Ed Peletier wanted his daughter to trust him. It would make it easier for him to turn her against her mother. To get her right where he wanted her.

But Sophia wasn't stupid either. And the bond she shared with her mother was not one he could ever shake.

And then Carol would stare him down in that way, challenging him. Letting him know with her body language and her eyes that she was keeping him away from her on purpose. Protecting her.

So he challenged her right back, stepping closer as his gaze was unwavering on her eyes, shrinking her down to nothing with just that sickening flash in his eye.

His hands were in fists, his ears were turning red.

It was coming. She knew it.

"Get inside," he bit out under his breath, jerking his head towards their tent. He stared her down until she began moving.

And just before she disappeared into the tent, her eyes made contact with _his_. Daryl. He saw everything.

And _he_ was glaring at her as well, his jaw grinding. But this glare didn't scare her, not in the slightest. Because she could feel the rage flowing right passed her and focussing itself on the monster behind her.

Daryl was angry. And he was holding an axe in his hands, on his way to get some firewood for the camp.

Carol's eyes flashed quickly between the axe and his angry eyes, and he saw her fearfulness there. He hurled the axe to the ground in frustration, eyeing Ed Peletier with fierce hatred.

And Ed Peletier did what Ed Peletier always did. He glared right back at Daryl, trying to intimidate the man. Daring him to do something about his business with _his_ wife.

The smirk on Ed's face had Daryl practically breathing fire. He knew Ed's type. And he knew what was waiting for Sophia the first time Carol wouldn't be around to butt in. What was waiting for Carol inside that tent.

"Easy, baby brother," Merle muttered from beside Daryl, rooting through his own bag as though he was paying no mind to the scene in front of him.

As Mr. and Mrs. Peletier disappeared into their family's tent, Merle shoved past Daryl towards the woods.

"Ain't your business," he told his little brother sharply.

And Daryl grabbed his axe and high-tailed it into the woods as fast as he could the second he heard the first pained whimper coming from that blue tent.

When Daryl returned after over an hour of chopping as much firewood as he could carry back, he saw Ed sitting by the fire, smoking a cigarette, looking all too pleased with himself. And his eyes searched for Carol and the little girl.

But Carl and Lori were nowhere to be found, which probably meant Sophia was with them. And that was alright with him, once his eyes landed on the girl's mama.

Carol was crouched in front of her tent, looking through a duffle bag. A bra strap had fallen off her shoulder and was poking down through the sleeve of her t-shirt. Red marks around her neck had caught his attention and he squinted upon realizing what they were. There would be bruises there later, Daryl was sure of it. And he was also sure they'd take on the shape of fingers.

Carol had found what she was looking for then, and began to wind the material of the scarf she pulled out of the bag around her neck.

Her eyes caught his, and she looked away shamefully. Pulled up her bra strap to its rightful place and stood up, walking right past him as he watched her, towards the pots they kept and began the process of cooking dinner for the camp.

Not one person spared a glance in her direction. Not one person did anything different than what they usually did.

But Daryl knew that that little girl was only safe with her mama around to do whatever it was that she needed to do, take whatever she needed to take. And he would keep her mama safe, he vowed to himself, to keep the girl from bearing the scars he himself had to bear. To keep her from feeling the heavy weight that those scars brought with them.

He would do that, for Sophia. For Carol.


	11. Distraction

**Hello fellow Carylers! I'm back with another little guy...**

**This one takes place at the farm, before they found Sophia. No place in particular in the show sequence, just during a time where Daryl's still looking for her (because let's face it, he was the only one who was truly looking for her). Bless that man.**

**Do you guys remember how adorable Daryl and Carol were together in the season 4 premiere? Remember? Me too. Let's think about it. Because they're made for each other. You know it. I know it. **

**(I own nothing...nothing at all). **

**oxox**

* * *

She washed the dishes, dried them, put them away. Wiped down all the counters. Cleaned the stovetop.

All in record time, it seemed, because he _still_ wasn't back yet. And she was _still_ waiting.

He went out every single day, looking for her little girl. He looked harder than anyone else, and she never understood why. She was grateful – _so_ grateful – but she still didn't quite get it. Why this man with no ties to her, and no ties to Sophia, risked his life every day to bring her home. She doubted Ed would have done this for his own daughter. She _knew_ he wouldn't.

Carol stood at the counter when she was done straightening up the kitchen as best she could when Patricia walked in.

"Wow, I don't think I've ever seen this kitchen so clean," she exclaimed happily as she ran a hand along the countertops.

"Patricia," Carol began, her voice shaky. "I noticed some cinnamon and brown sugar in the pantry. I was thinking of maybe making some cinnamon buns or something. Would that be alright?"

She needed to do something – _anything_ – to keep herself busy.

"Oh, Carol, you don't have to do that, you've already done so much –"

"I want to," Carol said firmly, cutting her off. "We can eat them for breakfast tomorrow morning."

Patricia looked at her for a brief moment and saw the wetness appear in her eyes almost instantly. And she understood, so she nodded meekly.

"You'll need to make some butter, I don't think we have any."

"I can do that. Can you show me?" Carol was grateful that Patricia didn't press. She liked Patricia, very much. Liked all the Greenes, in fact.

Patricia showed Carol the surprisingly simple process of making the butter with the fresh milk they'd gotten that morning, and then left her alone once more in the kitchen.

"Promise you'll call for me if you need anything," Patricia told her.

"I will, thank you."

And so Carol got to work, only half caring about the supplies she was depleting. Cinnamon buns were a comfort food, and she needed comfort. Everyone needed comfort.

Daryl needed comfort.

She could see the dejected look in his eyes every time he came back without her. How badly he hated having to look her in the eye and tell her, again, that he hadn't found Sophia. And she had no idea of how to tell him he didn't need to look at her like that. She didn't blame him for any of this. And he was making more of an effort to fix it than everyone else put together.

She needed to do something to show her appreciation. But there was nothing in this world worth giving, not to the man who gave her everything.

Her hands worked mechanically. Kneading, cleaning the entire kitchen once more while the dough rose, rolling, filling, cutting, cleaning the space again while the unbaked buns rose a little more.

She'd made them a million times, she knew the recipe by heart.

But now they were in the oven and she washed what was left of the dishes, overlooking the yard through the window at the sink.

And then she saw him slowly approaching the house, the sun setting behind him, going to talk to Rick about something. He caught her eye in the window and she stopped what she was doing. She knew that look.

He shook his head, just barely, and looked down for a moment before looking back up at her through the window.

_I'm sorry_.

It was so clear in his eyes. Her shoulders sunk as she let out the breath she didn't realize she was holding, and she attempted some semblance of a half-smile, nodding back at him before continuing her dishwashing.

Once the buns were out of the oven, she sat at the table with a glass of water, head in her hand as she leaned her elbow on the wooden surface.

"Smells good in here."

Startled, she whipped her head towards the gruff voice in the doorway of the kitchen and caught sight of Daryl, leaning on the doorframe, looking down at her with that look in his eye. _I'm sorry_.

"Thanks. I, um, I made cinnamon buns."

"Damn," he muttered in appreciation, coming to sit at the table across from her. "What's the occasion?"

She shrugged, unable to look him in the eye.

"Something to keep me busy while you're gone." She looked up at him then and saw the sadness in his eyes. "Something to thank you with when you got back."

He chewed on the inside of his lip as he looked at her.

"Don't gotta thank me."

"I do. Daryl, I _do_. You're –"

"Ain't brought her back yet, have I?"

"No, but you're trying. _Really_ trying. And that's…that's _everything_." She could barely keep her voice from shaking, even as she brought it down to a whisper. "I just wish we knew…"

He leaned forward then, leaning his elbows on the table and looking directly at her.

"We're gonna find her. You got that?"

She couldn't answer right away, because the hope in his eyes took her breath away. The promise. He was so determined, and she couldn't believe the feeling that consumed her. What would she do without this man? Sophia would be a distant memory by now if it weren't for him. And she'd be alone.

Carol nodded, and looked up to the ceiling, trying to fight back her tears.

"What have I done, Daryl?" she whispered.

He shot up from his chair and came to sit beside her before she could blink.

"Hey," he said quietly, but fiercely. "You ain't done _nothin'_ wrong, you hear me? Shit happens. You blame yourself for this?"

She looked at him but didn't respond. Because she did blame herself for this.

"You blamin' me 'cause I ain't found her yet?" His voice lost its bite then, and he leaned away from her, assuming what the answer would be.

"No, Daryl. _No_. This isn't your fault," she said earnestly, leaning towards him and mindlessly taking one of his hands.

But he didn't pull away, like she'd expected him too. Instead, he leaned forward too.

"This ain't nobody's fault, you hear?" His eyes bore into hers and she couldn't help but feel comforted by him. His presence, his words, his hand in hers. _Him_.

She nodded, and then her voice came out in a quiet whisper. "How would I do this without you?"

"Don't ever gotta find out. I'm here. And I'ma do whatever I gotta to bring that little girl back to you."

She nodded again, but couldn't hold the tears anymore as they slipped down her cheeks.

"Thank you."

He smiled at her in that barely-there way he had, bringing his free hand over hers and squeezing gently.

She let go of his hand and he stood, making his way to the rack of cooling cinnamon buns.

"I'm taking one of these," he said seriously, pointing at them and looking straight at her.

She smiled softly, attempting a chuckle. "Take 'em all if you want. They're for you."

But they both knew he would never do that. Daryl was a share-the-wealth kind of man.

He took a giant bite and moaned in satisfaction at the taste.

"Fuckin' delicious," he said through a mouthful.

And then she smiled for real.

"I'm goin' out again in the mornin', alright?"

She nodded, already feeling more hopeful than she had all day.

He left to clean himself up, squeezing her shoulder as he brushed by her. And then the people started trickling into the kitchen, smelling the fresh cinnamon buns and buzzing about what a treat they were. Carol smiled as everyone enjoyed the indulgence, glad to have been able to bring something exciting to their day.

The cinnamon buns never lasted until the morning, but somehow, the powdered eggs didn't seem all that bad that day.

* * *

**Keep the sweet reviews coming! And if there's something specific you want to read about, let me know and I'll see what I can do : )**

**MUAH!**


	12. Plea

**Hey there, fellow Carylers! **

**This one is a bit long...I was debating posting it as a separate fic, but decided to just throw it into this bunch. It takes place at the prison (my favourite place to write about, apparently) when Daryl comes back with Merle, though it's a little twist on those events. It's quite dramatic for Carol and Daryl - they would never have this type of conversation, I don't think - but I was in a drama-y mood.**

**(update: I just realized I posted this without putting in the breaks between "scenes"...they're all there now, hopefully it will flow a bit better)**

**I hope you enjoy!**

**I own nothing affiliated with The Walking Dead. I'm just a girl standing in front of the show's writers, asking them to do right by their Caryl fans. **

* * *

Every last one of them all but begged.

_We need you._

_Please stay, Daryl. We can't make it without you._

_How will we survive if you're gone? We _need_ you._

_Need._ Of course they needed him. He was strong. He could hunt. He kept them fed. Protected. But now that Merle was back he was starting to feel like that's all he was to them.

_We have to make him stay. We need him_.

It's all Daryl could think about as he sat there at the table in the common area. Wondering what he should do. He knew what he _had_ to do. There wasn't much choice, really. Rick, Glenn, Maggie, Michonne. The hand. That goddamn hand. Fucking Merle would never let any of them forget it.

And that's where the problem began and ended: Merle.

No one wanted him here, Daryl knew that. And Merle wanted them to leave together. Just the two of them, on the road. No fences. No food supply. No pot to piss in.

Daryl didn't want to go, not even a little bit. The security of the prison was too tempting, and if he was being honest with himself, he couldn't bear to leave the group of people he now called family. The group of people who taught him what the word family _meant_.

But Merle wasn't making it easy on anyone, and the only person who was making the slightest bit of effort was Carol. She also happened to be the one person he couldn't even bring himself to think about when he thought of what he would be leaving. Never seeing her again…he couldn't.

And she was the only one who hadn't begged him to stay. Hadn't told him how much they all _needed_ him. Hadn't grovelled and wept and pleaded for him to not leave them. But her actions said more than any of her words could have. Right from the moment they got back this afternoon, she was trying.

* * *

"What's going on?" Carol asked frantically as she ran outside.

She took in the sight before her. The two men standing on the other side of the fence.

Daryl and Merle were being kept out. _Locked out_. The rest of them stood on the inside of the fences, and tension was high, she could feel it. Even with the fence between the two sides, it was as though every single one of them was poised for a fight, save for Hershel and Beth, who were the innocent bystanders, just hoping to keep things peaceful.

Carol's eyes shot frantically between Daryl, Merle and Rick.

Merle was back. This meant trouble on so many levels. Her eyes were drawn instinctively to the missing limb, where he now wore some sort of deadly looking contraption.

"What are you doing? Let him in," she shouted, coming to stand next to Rick, making _sure_ she could hear him.

"Carol, we can't let Merle in here," he explained as calmly as possible, though his voice was dripping with contempt as his stare never left the man in question.

"What is the _matter_ with you? It's _Daryl_," she pleaded.

"Merle's not coming in here, Carol," Glenn said thickly.

She turned to Glenn then. "What are you talking about? We can't keep him out there."

"He tried to kill me. And Maggie…" his voice trailed off.

She was talking about Daryl. They were talking about Merle.

"We'll figure something out," she implored once more, her voice almost shaking. Pleading.

"Carol, It's _Merle_," he argued, his voice rising.

"No, it's _Daryl_," she shouted above everyone, and they all went silent at the aggressiveness of her voice.

She promptly turned to Rick, taking advantage of their stunned silence, and took the keys from his belt loop, making her way towards the fence.

Daryl stared at her with so much feeling behind those eyes as she unlocked the gate. He was angry and confused and grateful, and it all showed. Those feelings, each directed at a different person, were clearly written on his face. But the gratefulness – that was all for Carol.

She looked back at him, the sun shining unbelievably bright on them as they squinted to look at one another, Carol's chest heaving slightly with her anxious breaths.

Her eyes flickered to Merle, then back to Daryl. "Take off his…prosthetic…thing," she mumbled, clearly to appease the others. There was no way any of them would feel comfortable with him marching through their gates with a steel limb attached to him. It was clear that thing was a big part of the reason that man made it this far.

Daryl obliged silently and Carol opened the gate. Merle didn't argue, which didn't go unnoticed by Carol. He was clearly here for his little brother, and for that one reason alone. Daryl handed her the prosthetic as he passed through, and Merle glared at her hard as he followed his brother. She met his glower openly, expecting nothing less from that man.

She closed the gate, tossed the keys back to Rick, and jogged up to meet Daryl's stride as the rest of them followed incredulously behind.

He side-eyed her skeptically.

"We'll make it work," she whispered.

He simply scoffed.

* * *

The sun was setting now, and the prison was getting darker. He'd need a lantern soon.

The plan was to leave in the morning, he and Merle. He'd made it clear to everyone, he was taking Merle away from them. And then they all started with the begging. _Isn't that what you wanted?_

No one wanted Merle there. It was no secret, no one was being coy with their feelings on the matter. And what was Daryl supposed to do? What did they expect him to do? Toss his brother out without a second thought?

Daryl wanted them to _want_ him there. He wanted to know the feelings he felt for them – for her – were shared. But the begging, the pleading…something about it didn't feel right.

_You can't leave us, we _need_ you._

He heard footsteps coming down the stairs behind him. Soft ones. He knew who it was. And she came and situated herself right across from him at that table.

He couldn't look at her. Now that he knew he was leaving, looking at her would make everything worse.

"You okay?" she asked quietly.

He shook his head, a mocking smirk on his face. "Peachy."

"Daryl, I really think we can make this work."

And that was the kicker, wasn't it? He looked up at her then, doubting how she could even _think _that.

"You can't be serious, Carol."

"I am. I'm serious. We'll be fine. Just…give it a few more days. You'll see."

"I'm the only one here who can do something about this. Everyone is pissed off. _Everyone_. And it's all up to me to fix it. Can't you see that?"

"It's not all up to you. It's up to _all_ of us. Merle, too."

And that, right there, was one of the reasons he loved her. She would never put this pressure on him, not ever. She was taking responsibility too. Making an effort. Doing her part – _more_ than her part – like she always did. And in a few short hours, she'd be just a memory, all because his asshole brother couldn't get his head out of his ass.

"Merle ain't gonna change for no one," he mumbled.

"But _we_ can change. We can adapt."

"You're a real piece of work, you know that? It ain't gonna get better," he bit out. "You met my brother?"

"Yeah," she rolled her eyes. "He's real charming."

He chucked. "Exactly."

"No one wants you to leave."

"Yeah, so I've heard. Because y'all _need_ me, right?" he sneered.

"That's not why –"

"And what do _you_ want?" he bit out, cutting her off.

"I want you to stay. You _and_ Merle. I want him here. We need him."

"_Pff,_" he scoffed. "_Need_. There's that word again. He's right, you know. Every man for himself. I can feed y'all so I'm worthy of stayin'?"

His words stung her, _hard_. No, that's not what Daryl was to this group. He was so, so much more than that. Not just to her, but to everyone. He had to be. He did so much for them. He was so selfless. So wonderful.

"If he's the key to keeping you here, then yeah, Daryl, we need him here. And he's strong. And he's a good fighter. And he's loyal to you, and that will work to our advantage."

"Well ain't you sweet."

"I'm being _honest_," she said, her voice rising more than she would have liked. "He hates us, Daryl. He's only here for you. I'm trying to see the positives here."

"And y'all need me too. That's why y'all want me here." His tone was dejected, as though the thought pissed him off.

She quickly took his hands that were resting on the table and held them tight.

"Listen. Listen to me, Daryl. We need you. It's true, okay? We do. You kept us _fed_ all winter. People can't _live_ without food. You protect us, every single day. Every single one of us owes you our _lives_. You've saved us all. But, Daryl, you're a part of this family. We want you here, no matter what. You know that, right? If both of your legs were broken and you couldn't move or hunt us some dinner, we'd still want you. We'd still protect you and fight for you and keep you safe. We _love_ you, Daryl. Not because we need you, but just because we love you."

And now she was begging too, just like the rest of them. But the desperation in her voice…it was something he wasn't expecting. It caught him off guard.

He squinted at her in contemplation before looking down at their joined hands.

"I tried to apologize to Glenn today, for what Merle did."

Carol looked intently at his face, the concern feeling like it would be permanently etched there. He just kept his gaze on their joined hands as he spoke, running his thumbs along the backs of her hands, almost studying them.

"I told him I'd make sure Merle made things right. But he wouldn't hear it. No one will. Merle won't apologize. Even if he did, no one would give a shit."

She swallowed back the lump in her throat.

"You think Rick and Merle are ever gonna get along?" he asked, looking at her finally.

No, she didn't. He already knew the answer. No one expected that the two would ever see eye to eye on anything.

"They have to figure it out," she said, her voice low for fear of crying uncontrollably. She was running out of arguments. "They have to, Daryl. That's all there is to it."

He smiled at her, that beautiful soft smile that she barely ever gets to see. Not nearly as often as she would like.

"They won't."

"But…you can't just leave us." And then she started to feel the dread surround her like a cloak. The panic. He was seriously leaving.

"Judith," she continued, digging deep into her dirty bag of tricks. He winced. _Yes_. "What about Judith, Daryl? You're just going to go? Not see her grow up? Say her first words? Take her first steps? You…you gave her her first meal. Remember?" Of course he remembered. "She wouldn't have made it if it weren't for you and Maggie."

"Don't do this." He was looking at her hard, anger rising that she was stooping to this level to make him feel bad.

"Why?" She stood abruptly and rounded the table to sit next to him. He didn't move, just stayed the way he was, facing forward. "What does Merle need? A babysitter? I'll do it. I'll watch him all day, every day, if that's what it takes. He'll be my responsibility."

He shook his head, smirking. "You're not getting it."

"What's there to get?" she asked, her voice rising, and she stood up, needing to do something with herself. "Daryl, _please_. Whatever it is I need to do to make this work with Merle, I'll do it. I swear, I'll do it. Just, please, don't leave us."

"You ain't makin' this any easier, you know that?" And now his voice was rising. He stood then, too, looking her in the eye, an angry flash there.

"It _shouldn't_ be easy. You belong here."

"He's my _brother_. I can't leave him."

"I know that, Daryl. I just…I just want you to think about what you're leaving." She didn't even know what she was saying anymore.

"_I've thought about it,_" he shouted, and then he took two large strides swiftly towards her and grabbed hold of her biceps. "It's all I think about. You think I wanna leave? You don't think I wish it were different? All I can think about is what I'm leaving." He calmed as he looked intently into her eyes, and the pain swept over him. They were so close, the two of them. So close to…something. "I can't send him away," he whispered. "And he can't stay here."

Her lip quivered and her eyes filled with tears as she looked up at him.

"Fuck you," she bit out, anger coursing through her at this whole situation.

He froze. She had never spoken to him like that, not ever.

She shoved him away from her and stormed off to her cell. She knew she shouldn't have said that. She knew it wasn't his fault. She was just so angry and she didn't know what to do with it. He was the one leaving. He was the one making her feel like this.

And so she lay in her bed for what seemed like hours, wide awake. When the movement in the prison had stopped long ago and everyone seemed to be fast asleep, she lit her lantern and crept down the hall to Daryl's cell.

She stood at the doorway and watched him for a brief moment, gauging whether or not he was asleep. He was lying on his back, one arm tucked under his head and the other laying on his stomach. But before she had a chance to even let her eyes adjust, he lifted his head and looked right at her. He wasn't asleep either.

He watched her as she walked inside and placed the lantern on the little table before putting it out. He watched her as she kicked off the boots she had lazily slipped on for the walk over, and he watched her pull back his sheets and slip inside, pulling the covers back over them. He adjusted so that his back was to the wall, and they lay there, facing each other.

They stared into one another's eyes for many minutes – neither knew how long. And then she reached over and took his hand, lacing their fingers together and holding on tightly. She pulled their clasped hands towards her, snuggling them like a baby blanket, and curled herself into him, her forehead touching his chest.

He kissed the top of her head, and they went to sleep.

* * *

In the morning, Carol woke with the sounds of the movement in the prison, and the first words she heard were those of Merle and Glenn, apparently having another face-off, and Carol looked up at Daryl with sadness in her eyes.

But she could tell that he had already been awake for a while, and he had been looking at her. Just looking. Her stomach twisted and her heart clenched, because she had never seen him watching her like that before, and after today, she may never again.

She didn't understand this family. She couldn't understand how their hatred of Merle could override their love for Daryl. They should be doing anything for him; _everything_ in their power to keep him here.

They slowly sat up and Daryl set to packing a bag, as Carol sat on his bed and watched him glumly.

* * *

Once she cleaned the breakfast dishes thoroughly and stalled as much as she possibly could inside, she made her way out to the yard where everyone had come together to bid the Dixons farewell.

She still had a chance. But this was the last one.

She lingered by the prison door, watching, before making her decision.

And then she strode resolutely towards them.

She passed through the centre of the group, not looking around for fear of losing her nerve. She ignored Daryl as he turned to face her, and marched straight up to Merle.

He stopped fiddling with his bag and stood up to face her.

"Merle, don't do this," she said quietly. Firmly.

He smirked. "Don't do what?" He crossed his arms over his chest, his tone disdainful.

"Don't do this to him. Don't make him choose."

"Oh, sugar, I think the rest of your little pals over there have already chosen for him."

She ground her teeth together in irritation. She knew he was partly right. They hadn't helped the situation, not at all.

"Merle, _please_. Don't take him away from us. I'm begging, okay? _Please_." She was whispering now.

Daryl watched, a few feet off to the side of the exchange, his eyes flitting nervously between his brother and his…Carol.

"Oh, come on now, Mouse. Tell it like it is," he taunted.

Merle knew there was something between those two, and he was daring her to admit it. Now, in front of everyone, in front of Daryl. Just to see how _badly_ she wanted it.

She swallowed thickly, her eyes glassy as she glared daggers at this man.

"Don't take him away from me." She could barely choke the words out without completely losing it.

And Merle just stood there, his smirk wavering just a fraction as his eyes flew quickly to Daryl and back.

She knew this was it. If they had any chance at all, this was it. Something happened in Merle's head when she'd pleaded her case, she could see it in his eyes.

But then they hardened again, so fast she nearly got whiplash.

He shrugged. "Nothin' I can do about it, sweetheart. Talk to your comrades. Maybe they can help you."

Her head fell and she squeezed her eyes shut, a tear slipping down her cheek. She couldn't look at them, not now. She'd lose it on each one of them, she just knew it.

So she turned to Daryl instead, with nothing left to lose. Walked right up to him and grabbed hold of his face, lifting herself onto her toes so she could get as close as she could.

"Don't go," she whispered, and she squeezed her eyes shut as she planted a soft, quick kiss on his mouth.

He watched her as she kissed him, frozen in place and eyes wide open, and it was all he could to hold it together.

"Please," she begged. Another kiss. "Don't go." Another. "Stay with me." One more.

She wasn't sure if it would have hurt more or less had he not been kissing her back. But he was, she could feel it. His lips were soft and gentle and answering. He kissed her too. _How could this be happening?_

She didn't care if everyone was watching. He was leaving, she knew it. So she threw everything she had into giving him everything inside of her. At least if he was going, he'd know he could always come back to her.

"I love you," she muttered against his mouth, and kissed him once more. And his lips were tense, tighter than before, until all of a sudden they weren't and he was kissing her back and it was all too perfect for a brief moment. Until he put his hands on her waist and pushed her back slightly. Enough for her to get the message.

She looked at him, her hands pulled into her chest as though he'd burned her, and the tears were flowing.

She didn't notice Maggie crying off to the side. She didn't notice Glenn's wide-eyed concern as he watched his friend's heart breaking. She didn't notice Rick running a hand down his face – all in a moment of unbelievable sadness.

All she saw was Daryl, looking at her with desperation clouding the air around him. Tears in his eyes. Leaning towards her as though he wanted her back in his arms.

His mouth moved in a way that told her he wanted to say something. But he just couldn't. He could only look at her.

"I can't watch you go," she managed to say through a choked whisper.

So she turned and went back inside, leaving the group where they stood, making her way to her cell.

* * *

No one came back inside; she had no idea when Daryl and Merle actually left. She was alone for longer than she thought she would be, and the silence was deafening. Although she had thought she wanted to be alone, it turned out, she didn't. She wanted to just be completely and utterly sad and have someone else be sad with her.

She vaguely heard the door open and close. She vaguely heard the footsteps coming up the stairs and walking down the hall. She vaguely registered that they'd stopped at her door.

Her face was in her hands, and her tears were flowing out of control as she sat on the edge of her bed. So when she went to wipe her face with her tear-soaked hands to greet her visitor, she basically just smeared the wetness all over her cheeks.

She looked up, supposing it would be Rick or Hershel, maybe even Glenn.

So she gasped when she saw the one person she wasn't expecting.

"Daryl –"

But she didn't know what to say. What was he doing here? She thought she'd made it clear that she was done with her goodbyes.

He walked in slowly and situated himself on the bed next to her. He took her hand with both of his. He held it tightly. He caressed it softly.

And she just looked at him with pure uncertainty in her eyes. Not knowing what he was doing there or what he possibly had to say to her that wouldn't make this a thousand times harder.

"Looks like they like you more than they like me," he chuckled.

She said nothing, because she didn't get it. But her face turned even more confused and he snickered when he glanced up at her.

"Couldn't bear to see you so upset, I guess. As soon as you left, Maggie asked for a truce. Said they'd make it work. Glenn didn't even argue with her."

But she just kept looking at him, even leaning away from him as she squinted in disbelief, tears still in her eyes. She looked to their hands, and then back to his face.

His eyes were on hers then. And he wasn't smiling anymore.

"We ain't leaving. They love you, Carol."

"You're staying because they love me?" Her voice still hadn't regained its confidence, and her face still clearly registered her scepticism.

"Nah." He looked down at their hands and then he looked back up at her. Right into her eyes. "I'm stayin' because _I_ love you."

She choked out a sob and attempted a smile. "This isn't funny."

"I ain't tryin' to be funny."

"You're staying?"

"Yeah. We're stayin'. Merle, too, so you better play nice."

She giggled through her tears then and reached over to run her fingers into his hair, holding him close to her. "I promise, I will. He's important to you. So he's important to me."

And he knew she meant it. If he could count on anyone to truly try, it was her.

One of his hands let go of hers and reached up to place it softly on her cheek, stroking it gently with his thumb.

His eyes skimmed the planes of her face before he slid his hand to her neck and gently pulled her closer to press his lips to hers.

He'd made a family here, one that he could never again do without.

No, he definitely could not leave her.

* * *

He saw them before he could hear them.

And if he was being honest, it was the mention of his name that caught his attention more than anything. More than the fact that they were speaking at all. His curiosity was piqued the second he saw her sitting in his cell.

"…mess with Daryl, I will slit your throat while you sleep."

And then Merle smirked, and Carol stood to leave, though she didn't see him standing there, listening to their conversation.

He caught his brother's eye and walked away without a word, though he smiled to himself when he was sure Merle couldn't see.

He wasn't even sure what it was about the confrontation that made him ache with pride inside. The fact that she was true to her word – would do whatever she could to make it work, as she said everyone should.

And that began with giving Merle the lay of the land – making Daryl feel protected in a way he'd never felt before. Like being wrapped up in a warm blanket on the coldest night.

_That's my girl_.

* * *

**Oh, and one more thing...after all that time on the run together and living at the prison, Beth still knew nothing of our Daryl to be asking him those ridiculous questions in the moonshine house, further illustrating the lack of connection between those two. She clearly doesn't know him like our Carol does, and there's no way the writers are sloppy enough to throw away something as incredible as what Caryl has. Amirite? ; )**


	13. Fallen

**Hi pumpkins!**

**First of all...I am floored by the incredible response to the last chapter! The reviews I've received were so kind and so motivating, and I can't thank you enough. And to the guest posts that I couldn't reply to, THANK YOU! (I'm looking at you, Cindy2005) ; ) Really and truly, I appreciate every single follow/favourite/review. SO much.**

**This next installment is another prison fic that has to do with Merle (I'm in a Merle state of mind, apparently). This takes place when Daryl comes back from putting him down (*sniff*) after Merle took one for the team.**

**Any dialogue or situations that are familiar do not belong to me, but to their respective creators. : )**

**ENJOY! : )**

* * *

They watched him when he returned, but kept their distance. Anyone could see from a mile away that the man needed his space. He needed to sort through it, think about it. Deal with it. At least, _she_ could see it.

No one knew what had happened – whether or not he'd found his brother dead or living. Or one of the living dead. He'd lost him, though, that was certain, or else Merle would have come back with him.

All they knew was what Michonne had told them, when she returned – alone. He had gone to kill the Governor. To end it once and for all.

Every single one of them had suffered loss many times over, but it never got easier. And Merle had been all Daryl had left of his old life. Losing him in Atlanta had been different. Back then it wasn't absolute – Merle could have been alive somewhere, and that shred of hope was something Daryl held onto. This time was the real deal. This time Daryl knew what he'd always feared; he was alone.

"Should we say something?" Rick asked her, as he watched his friend park his bike and make his way slowly towards them.

"No," Carol replied thoughtfully. "No, leave him be for a little while."

"You think?"

"Yeah. I'm sure he doesn't want to hear you telling him how sorry you are about his brother. Or Glenn, for that matter." She eyed him knowingly, getting her point across clearly. "He needs time."

Carol knew that saying anything to him now – offering any sort of condolence for his loss – would most likely make him angry. Daryl knew every one of them disliked his brother. Their comforts now would help nothing. It was too little, too late.

It was the same way they'd all been shaken up after what happened to Sophia. Her baby. The loss of her little girl had shaken everyone hard. And in her grief, it made her angry, in a way. Because only one of them took the search for her seriously. Only one of them _actually_ tried. And that man didn't need any half-baked attempts at sympathy now, she was certain.

Rick nodded his agreement. When it came to Daryl, Rick trusted her explicitly. She cared for him like nothing he'd ever seen before, and he knew her suggestion to give him time and space was coming from a place of deep compassion and protectiveness.

"I'll go tell the others to lay off for a bit," Rick said before making his way inside.

Carol stood where she was and watched Daryl from afar as he made his way slowly, shoulders slumped in defeat and head bowed down, in her direction.

He came to stand a few feet in front of her, and she took in the defeated posture. The redness of his eyes. The crossbow he held loosely at his side instead of slung onto his back.

And then he looked up at her wordlessly. Fresh tears pooled in his eyes and his eyebrows drew together slightly as he tried to hold back his emotions.

At the sight of his sadness, her eyes welled up with her own tears. She didn't know Merle all that well, but his loss would still be felt. He loved his little brother, that much was clear, and Daryl loved him too. Their relationship was one that no one could ever define or even begin to understand, and the loss of it had changed Daryl most certainly. She ached for him. Ached for the defeat he felt and the sadness he had to suffer. She knew the pain of losing the last person you were tied to in the world. It was terrifying and lonely and made you wonder what you were still doing, living and breathing like you were.

And she knew, as they all did, that the grief was all-encompassing, and could never be shaken. It would choke you and hold you hostage against your will to move on. But there was no choice anymore, everyone had to move on, and fast. There was no time to heal. No time to grieve.

Merle had told her once that Daryl was the sweet one. The sensitive one. The feeler.

He was right.

Daryl felt more than he let on. Things bothered him. Things got to him. Things shook him. Seeing the people he loved experience something traumatic pushed and pulled at his emotions.

It was something you would never know about him until one day your little girl goes missing, and he speaks to you in a softness you'd never heard from him before, trying to reassure you that everything would be okay. Treats your pain like his own. Risks life and limb to make things right for you. Stays by your side in a compassionate silence when the ground gets pulled from under you and you feel like you're plummeting into oblivion.

Daryl Dixon was a feeler.

This would hurt him and tear at him, and she would do everything she could for him. There was no question, no resolve, no decision. That's just the way it would be. He was a part of her. They'd shared the same pain, she and he.

He kept his eyes glued to hers, not letting one tear fall, using her as a lifeline. And for a small instant, he felt a pang of hope. She was his salvation. He would be okay.

Her lip curled up in a sympathetic half-smile, and she picked up the empty basket at her feet. She moved past him towards the line of dried laundry, and ran her hand gently down his arm, squeezing his hand as she passed.

He closed his eyes tightly, tilting his head in her direction as she walked by, and moved forward.

No one had seen Daryl all day. At one point he was in the guard tower. At another, he was walking the perimeter. And then he disappeared completely and no one even talked about it.

Carol told herself he was fine, he just needed space. Time. He wasn't in danger. He wasn't that stupid.

So she busied herself with straightening out his cell. She made his bed, smoothing out the sheets until they were practically wrinkle-free. Folded them back as though it was a hotel bed, and she wished she'd had a mint to place on his pillow.

She folded a set of night clothes, and another set of clothes for the next day, and piled them neatly on the bed.

She lit a candle, hoping the dim light would soothe him when he returned.

But it was already getting dark, and he still wasn't back.

She sat at a table in the common area, wringing her hands together, her mind running away and taking with it the ability to focus on anything else.

So she just sat, and waited.

She boiled some water, assuming Daryl would need to get cleaned up when he returned.

_When_ he returned.

Rick entered then, coming back from watch. He stopped in front of Carol, and she looked up at him hopefully.

"Anything?" she asked.

He shook his head. "If he doesn't come back before morning –"

"He'll be back," she cut him off tersely.

Glenn entered then, on his way to take over watch duty.

"Daryl's not back yet?" he asked, a note of anxiety in his voice.

Rick shook his head. "Not yet."

"Shit," Glenn mumbled.

"He'll be back," Carol told them once more. "Just…don't worry. Not yet."

Glenn and Rick exchanged a glance and both went off in the directions they were headed.

She wasn't sure how long it had been since Rick had come in from watch, but the water she had boiled was still relatively hot. A little too hot to bathe in.

The door opened then, and she looked up, seeing a silhouette come through the door, and stop there.

_Daryl_.

Her shoulders visibly slumped with her relief, though she said nothing to him.

He approached her and she noticed the dirt and blood that was caked onto his skin. His clothes were filthy, and he looked even more worn than when he left. Even the dim light from her lantern couldn't hide the wear of his outing.

His hand skimmed the surface of the table she sat at as he passed by her, heading up to his cell. It was the closest he could come to touching her right now – letting her know he was okay. Easing the worry he knew she felt at his absence.

Once she'd heard the foosteps stop, she waited to hear for any other movements. He was perfectly still, or close to it. So she collected the bucket of warmed water, and fetched a cloth and a bar of soap from the shower room.

When she appeared at his cell door, she saw him sitting on the edge of his bed, candle still burning as she'd left it, clothes still piled neatly beside him. His shoulders were slumped and his gaze was blank on the ground in front of him.

She moved slowly inside, placing the bucket beside him, and closed the curtain he had hung for privacy.

He glanced up at her, then at the bucket, then back to the ground, his face never changing.

She knealt down in front of him and reached slowly for the cloth, soaking it in the bucket. She inched her way closer to him and reached up with her free hand to lightly brush the hair off his face. His eyes closed at the contact.

She brought the wet cloth to his forehead and began cleaning off the dirt and blood, so very gently.

He kept his eyes closed until she stopped to reach down to dip the cloth into the bucket, and he watched her careful movements.

She didn't say a word, and concentrated instead on the task at hand. She looked at his skin methodically, as though every fibre of her being wasn't aching to wrap her arms around him and pull the sorrow out of him so that she could carry it herself.

It wasn't until his face and neck were done that she'd made eye contact. She brought her fingers to the top button of his shirt and eyed him questioningly.

His head barely nodded as his tired eyes looked at her, but he nodded nonetheless.

She undid each button as gently as she could, and this time he watched her. She kept her sights on the job her hands were performing, though she could feel his eyes on her.

She slipped her fingers onto the skin of his shoulders and slipped the shirt off smoothly, helping him get his hands free from the sleeves. And then she stood, taking a soft hold of the hem of his undershirt and pulled it over his head.

He didn't protest. He just sat there.

And so she kept working, washing his shoulders, his chest, his arms, his back.

As she held one of his hands, cleaning each finger thoroughly as she tried being as tender as possible, his gravelly voice startled her.

"His eyes," he muttered, and she halted her movements for just a second before she continued working.

That was how she knew what had happened to Merle. The eyes of those _things_ were nothing of the people they used to love. Nothing.

"They were…"

"I know," she said, not wanting him to have to suffer through the words if he didn't want to. Because she did know. She knew all about those eyes.

"Weren't him no more," he finished, almost to himself, his gaze drifting off to the side.

She shook her head. "No," was all she could say.

The pain flooded her as they fell silent – her grief, now paired with his. What he must have seen, how he must have felt seeing it. She knew all about it, and she knew he would never, ever forget it. The memory of it was burned in his mind, just as it had been in hers.

She switched hands.

"It won't get easier," he said robotically. It was a statement, but also a question.

She looked at him then, and he was looking at her. Looking _to_ her, for something.

She shook her head. "No. It won't."

She took his boots and socks off carefully as she reflected on his words. And she hoped he'd be okay, somehow. She hoped she could be for him what he had been for her.

Silence took over once more as she stood up and took his clean hands to stand him up with her. He didn't even flinch when she brought her fingers to the button of his pants and popped it open. Did nothing but look at her face as she pulled the zipper down.

He sat back on the bed in his underwear, as unaffected as he would have been had he been fully dressed, and she kneeled down once more in front of him.

She worked at his legs, his knees, his ankles, his feet. And neither of them said another word.

When she was done washing him, she draped the cloth over the edge of the bucket, and stood, leaning down to run a hand over his cheek, bringing his face up to look at hers. His eyes were still wet with tears, and it tore at her anew.

"You get cleaned up under there and I'll go get us something to eat," she said.

He nodded mutely and she left as he stood up to grab the rag.

When she returned with their oatmeal and jerky, he was sitting again, in the fresh pair of underwear she'd left for him, and nothing else.

Every movement exhausted him. He couldn't bear to finish getting dressed, it was far too daunting.

She put the tray down on the little table beside the candle and reached for the shirt. She put it on him and he complied, fitting his arms through the holes and letting her do the rest of the work. The pants came next, and he let her put his feet through the leg holes and stood up when she took his hand, watching her once more as she pulled them up to his waist.

Sweat pants. He never wore sweat pants, just in case they had to run. He never let himself relax, but tonight she had decided he needed to sleep as comfortably as he could.

He didn't argue her choice of night clothes.

They ate side by side on the bed, and to her surprise, he finished his entire bowl, washing it down with the bottle of water she'd brought for him.

She took the empty bottle and bowl and placed them back on the tray, settling herself back on the bed beside him.

Just as she turned towards him to ask if he wanted to be left alone, she saw his face warp with the anguish that overtook him, and he sobbed, letting his tears flow freely.

It startled her to see it hit him so suddenly, and she immediately wrapped an arm around him, running the other one up and down his leg. She fitted herself right up against him and rested her head on his shoulder as her hands rubbed soothingly along whatever surface they touched, pulling him as close as she could.

She whispered reassurances that she knew would fall short, hoping she'd have some epiphany on what she could do to help him.

"_I know. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I understand. I know."_

But his sniffing and shaking and crying were far more prominent than her fierce whispers.

And then he turned his body towards her, burying his face in the crook of her neck, and she wrapped her arms protectively around him.

After a moment he began to settle, his sharp breaths shaking him slightly, but still she held on tightly.

He kept himself curled into her well after he'd settled, and she rocked them gently, resting her cheek against his temple.

She pulled him up and pulled back the blankets, pushing him gently back onto the bed. She covered him once he was settled, and touched his cheek before moving to pick up the tray.

But he grabbed her hand before it slipped from his face, and she looked down at him questioningly. He held her hand tightly in his, and pulled at her slightly.

He lifted the blankets and she sat at the edge of the bed, removing her boots and blowing out the candle.

She eased herself down beside him, and he pulled her close, her back to his his chest, and buried his face into the back of her neck.

She let the tears flow silently then, now that he couldn't see her. His hand was resting on her stomach, and she moved to grab hold of it, clutching it tightly to her chest.

A few minutes passed before he spoke softly, his breath tickling the back of her neck.

"I'm alone."

"You're not. Never." She held his hand tighter and hoped her whisper didn't betray the tears she was shedding. "You have me," she breathed.

"I have you," he echoed, his eyes closed and his voice trailing off with his exhaustion.

"He gave us a chance, Daryl. He made it count. He did it for you."

She brought his hand to her lips and kissed his knuckles, and she felt his lips brush the junction between her shoulder and her neck.

He would be fine. If she could pull through, he could too.

She would make sure of it.

* * *

**As a parting note, I want you all to go back and watch "Tell It To The Frogs" (the very first episode for our Carol and Daryl)...the ending makes it quite clear that there are such deep bonds between these two. I'm telling you, that can't be a coincidence. And if that's not a comfort to all the Caryl shippers out there, then hear this...**

**Today I read an article about 5x02 (currently filming), and it explicitly mentioned that Melissa and Norman were spotted filming...REUNION? Please please please let it be so. **

**oxox**


	14. Fighters

**Hello again! I know it's been a while since I've posted, I just got back from my vacation today, and I was working on this particular one-shot here and there while I was gone. I mean, it's actually taken much longer than that to write because it's a season 1 fic, which I find to be a _huge_ challenge! So, this one goes out to Jinny1990, who asked for another story at the quarry. This was what came to me, so I hope you all enjoy! (there's no Ed directly in it, but he's very much implied)**

**And again, to Cindy2005...THANK YOU for the incredible reviews : ) I really can't tell you how much I appreciate them! It means a lot to hear that you're enjoying these stories. As for the scene(s) I was referring to in "Tell It to the Frogs", it was at the end where they cut from a scene of Carol crying over Ed, directly to a scene of Daryl crying over Merle. It was just so beautiful...and it stood out so much to me. These two are unshakeable, y'all!**

**And to the other guest reviewer whose name I don't know, thank you as well for your lovely review! I wish I could reply as I receive your reviews : )**

**As for this particular story, the conversations can contain time lapses between them, they aren't happening on consecutive days.**

**...aaaaand of course you know that I own nothing/no one affiliated with TWD. ; ) ENJOY! **

* * *

The day after they all arrived at the camp they would now call home, Carol rose before the sun, as she always had. It had been a habit of hers since she'd married Ed, taking advantage of the quiet before he awoke, using the time to be alone with the peace and quiet.

She crept out of her tent as quietly as she could but didn't go far, her fear of the dead things they were now running from causing her to stay close. Safety in numbers, is what they'd all been telling one another.

She sat on a folding chair right outside of her tent, watching the sun come up as she always did. It wasn't until it had almost completely risen that she noticed the man sitting outside his own tent, farther off from the main camp. It was one of the brothers, but she couldn't remember their names. They'd been crass and crude, and made her a little nervous. One was far more intimidating than the other, with a louder mouth and a much more combative nature. She couldn't understand what they would want with this ragtag group. They'd do fine on their own. Probably better. At least they wouldn't have women and children weighing them down. Those two were fighters.

And then he caught her staring and she blushed, thankful that he was probably too far away to notice the evidence of her embarrassment colouring her cheeks.

Her eyes darted away from his the instant she'd been caught, but she chanced another look his way and he nodded in her direction, and that act alone had somehow set her a bit more at ease. It didn't seem to fit the image he'd given off, he and his brother. It made him seem less aggressive somehow.

She nodded back and gave a little wave.

* * *

The following morning, when Carol emerged from her tent, she sat on her chair as she had the day before, pulling her sweater tightly against herself to ward off the chill in the air.

She'd noticed him right away when she stepped into the pre-dawn darkness, sitting at his tent, but wasn't sure what to do. She'd noticed him around the camp with the others, doing well to live up to his harsh reputation. Based on her observations, she'd do well to leave him be.

But she waved in greeting regardless, remembering his act if kindness from the morning before. He nodded in return.

She was certain this brother was Daryl. Almost entirely certain.

She hadn't heard him approach until he was directly next to her, offering her a blanket.

"Here," he muttered, holding it out as he stood half-turned away from her as though he couldn't get away from her fast enough.

She looked between his face and the outstretched blanket a few times before her lips curled up into a timid smile and she reached out hesitantly.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"Welcome," he replied with a nod, and let his gaze linger on hers for a moment before returning to his tent.

She didn't miss the way his eyes fluttered over the bruise on her left cheek.

* * *

It was Carol's turn to pursue him the morning after, and she brought his blanket with her.

"Ain't nothin'," he'd said with a shrug as she offered it back and thanked him for his kindness.

She smiled softly at him and was about to return to her lawn chair when he spoke.

"Goin' up on the RV to keep watch, if you wanna come."

He'd noticed her habit of watching the sunrise. Noticed her husband and what kind of a man he was, and he felt drawn to her in a way he couldn't explain. Connected in a strange way he'd never felt with another person. Almost as though they had a kinship with one another. As though he was safe from judgment with her. She'd understand him just as he understood her, though she didn't know it yet.

She was surprised at his invitation, her eyes widening as she looked up at him. He fidgeted nervously, biting at his thumb nail. But she nodded eagerly, knowing on some level that she wouldn't need to explain to him why she had to flitter back to her tent before her husband woke up. She got the sense that this man wouldn't ask - or simply wouldn't care - and that suited her just fine.

She glanced briefly toward her tent before following him.

They climbed wordlessly up to the roof of the RV and sat on the two chairs Dale had kept up there for such occasions. Neither uttered a word to the other as the dawn broke and the silence enveloped them both like a warm blanket. Their companionship did more for one another than either would ever know, and so began their daily routine of watching the sunrise together atop the old Winnebago.

* * *

"I know what people think of me," she whispered.

He looked up at her with a question in his eyes. He had no idea where she was going with this.

She met his stare with a soft, sad smile. "Everyone wonders why I let him do this to me."

She paused, trying to keep herself together. He was patient, and he watched her while he waited for her to go on.

"I have nowhere to go. I have nothing to give to Sophia. And he'd find us, if we left."

Daryl didn't respond. He'd never once blamed her for staying with him, for "letting" him do this to her. Not once. He knew why she stayed. He knew what it was like to love someone you were so terrified of, to hope in the back of your mind that they'd snap out of it and realize how badly they've hurt you.

"I let him do it because it keeps him away from her," she admitted, looking down at her fidgeting fingers. "Sometimes if he starts on her, I'll do something to make him mad just to distract him."

He was taken aback by her admission, and his thoughts went directly to that little girl. Carol's confession had made him feel something. Relief? Relief that the girl had a better life than he had. She had this mother who risked everything for her. Daryl knew what it felt like to have no one in your corner. But this little girl had her mama, and that was everything.

He took her hand then, and she looked at him in surprise. His eyes lingered on hers as he gave her hand a squeeze and held it for a beat before sliding it away again. He leaned back in his chair and she followed suit, and they sat in silence until the sun came up.

* * *

His eyes were on her as he listened avidly to every word. Hung on to each sound that came out of her mouth as though she was pulling them right out of his head.

His eyes welled up. The memories were all so fresh, even though they'd happened a lifetime ago.

"I never know what will set him off. Every second of every day it's like, I don't know what to expect, you know? But here...he's trying to hold back, I can tell. It's just...do you have any idea what it's like going one minute to the next not knowing if you're gonna get pounded on?"

"Yeah."

One simple word, barely loud enough for anyone to hear, and it changed everything between them. Her head snapped up to his and she looked at him with concern in her eyes, but he wasn't looking at her anymore.

"It takes...everything out of you," he muttered.

She didn't know what to say as the puzzle pieces were fitting themselves into place. He looked back at her, his tearful eyes on hers, revealing it all with that one look.

She exhaled heavily. Because she knew, no one would dare come near this man as he was now. He was big and strong and intimidating, and no one could hurt him now.

"You were little," she breathed. It was a question, though it didn't come out that way.

He nodded.

She stifled a sob, swallowing it down and working to steady her breath. She couldn't imagine a helpless child suffering the things she was suffering as a grown woman. No child deserved that. Not ever. She thought of Sophia. Of how desperately she had shielded her from the wrath of her own daddy. How hard she tried, how hard she fought. She would do anything to keep Ed away from her baby.

And so it made her realize that Daryl had grown up with no one protecting him, or the person who tried had failed. Either option tore her to pieces, and she felt like she was meeting him for the first time. Like she understood him on a whole new level.

And now it was her turn to reach over to him, taking his hand in both of hers. Squeezing tightly as she watched him swipe fiercely at his eye.

"That girl's lucky she has you," he told her.

She took a shaky breath, unable to respond as she leaned back in her seat, her watery gaze fixed on his.

* * *

"Do you want me to take care of it?"

His question startled her. She hadn't realized that he'd been unable to take his eyes off the bruise peeking out of her shirt collar, or that he couldn't stop thinking about the way she had flinched the whole way up the ladder, winced when he grabbed her forearm to pull her to the roof of the RV, cringed as she settled herself into the folding chair.

But she considered it for a moment, briefly realizing how blissful her life would be without Ed. Thinking over all the years she'd been so desperate for this to be all over.

But she snapped out of it quickly, bringing her wide eyes to his.

"No. No, Daryl. Don't."

He ground his teeth together and turned his head to face the camp below them.

"What about Sophia?" he asked, working purposefully at her soft spot.

He couldn't do it for himself back when he should have, but he would do it for her girl. He'd do it for Carol. He knew he would.

But she didn't even flinch. "I don't want you to have that on your conscience. Not for me. I couldn't do that to you."

"You don't know anything about me," he spat, squinting at her and leaning forward to get his point across. "You don't know what kind of man I am. What I've done before I met you people. Maybe it's just another drop in the bucket."

It was true, she didn't know a thing about him.

"I won't ask this of you," she stated firmly, yet so quietly that he barely even heard her.

"I'm offering."

"Why?"

She was turned towards him now, waiting intently for his answer. He stopped chewing on the inside of his cheek long enough to answer.

"He ain't never gonna stop."

He was right.

And she didn't know what to say.

Ed would never stop. But she couldn't ask Daryl to do this for her. Couldn't look her daughter in the eye knowing she essentially murdered her father.

They glared at one another for a long while before she settled back into her chair and turned her gaze onto the tree line.

"If you were that kind of man, you wouldn't be asking my permission," she finally said.

He glared at her, studying her face as she dutifully avoided him.

She was right.

And he didn't know what to say.

* * *

"C'mere, I wanna show you something."

She looked at him in surprise, and then looked cautiously around the camp to be sure that no one was looking. They slipped silently though the tree line, and walked until they made it to a clearing. Daryl hadn't uttered a word the entire time, and Carol didn't ask him where they were going. And it occurred to her then, as they walked through the dense forest in the pitch black of the night, just how implicitly she trusted this man that she barely even knew.

They came to a clearing in the trees and stepped out onto the edge of a cliff overlooking the quarry. The water sparkled in the moonlight, making everything seem a bit brighter.

She stared down at the beauty below her, jaw dropped slightly at the scene. It was so different at night. So peaceful. So serene. Barely a ripple in the water. She turned to Daryl when she felt him nudge her arm gently with his.

Carol looked at him and as he looked back at her, she was taken by how beautiful he looked in the light of the moon. How his eyes still shone blue even in the darkness.

He jerked his head in the direction of the landscape ahead of them and she turned, as he did, to face the expanse of the sky before them, and her breath caught in her throat.

The sun was only just beginning to rise, the very faint orange barely peeking over the horizon.

Daryl sat down abruptly, bringing his knees up and leaning his elbows on them, and Carol followed suit.

They sat in silence for a good long while and watched the sun come up. It had been, by far, the most stunning sunrise Carol had ever seen in her life.

"It's beautiful." Carol breathed.

"Yeah," Daryl agreed readily.

She looked at him and her eyes traced his profile for a lingering moment before she whispered, "Thank you."

He looked back at her then, studying her as she'd done to him only a moment before, and his eyes met hers as he shrugged and replied, "Ain't nothin'."

He stood up not long after and she knew it was time to get back, though she dreaded it. The sun was up, and with it, soon would be the rest of their group.

He reached his hand out to her and she took it, allowing him to pull her up off the ground.

They walked back to camp in companionable silence, and Carol couldn't wipe away the slight smile that tickled her lips.

"Goin' huntin' today," he said before they reached the camp.

She nodded. "Will you be gone long?"

She knew why he was telling her his plans, and he knew why she was asking how long his trip would be. There would be no sunrise rendezvous tomorrow.

"Probably won't be back til at least tomorrow afternoon. Maybe later."

She nodded once more and looked up at him as they walked. "You stay safe out there."

He nodded gently and gave her a half smile, his eyes softening with her concern.

* * *

"I'm sorry about your brother."

She was so quiet, more than usual, treading lightly over this sore spot of his. He hadn't spoken a word to her since she came up to the roof of the RV, despite her efforts of engaging him, and the sun was almost risen.

He looked at her with doubt in his eyes, clearly not believing her.

"Merle's an asshole. You know it just as well as everyone else."

"Being an asshole doesn't make him any less important. He's your kin, Daryl, and you didn't deserve to have him taken from you like that."

He sat as still as can be as he absorbed her heartfelt condolences. And then he turned his eyes to hers and let his gaze rake over the soft features of her face.

He liked her eyes. Her mouth. the length of her throat as it met her delicate shoulders. He liked the way she looked, and he liked looking at her.

"I hope you find him tomorrow," she whispered.

And he believed her. He believed that she meant what she said. Out of the very select few that had expressed some semblance of regret for what had happened, her words touched him in a different way. They meant something different. Something that belonged to just the two of them.

Daryl had never felt cared for before, truly cared for. And he had never cared for anyone he didn't feel obligated to care for - his brother, his mother, his father. The friendship that had developed between he and Carol was something he held close and would protect with all he had.

"Thanks," he said sincerely.

She simply nodded, and looked deep into his eyes as she said, "You best come back to us in one piece."

"I will," he said after a beat, matching her gaze.

She nodded once more, and his lip curled into a half-smile before she turned towards the camp below, exhaling a deep breath through her worry.

* * *

The sun came up as it always did, but this morning was so terribly different from the others.

Andrea kneeled on the ground next to her dead sister. The children were terrified and the mothers did what they could to keep them calm while the men disposed of the carnage from the night before.

Carol stood off to the side of the commotion, tears streaming down her face as she contemplated the loss of her husband. She hated him, but his demise still shook her. He was her anchor, no matter how miserable he made her, no matter how much he tortured her. He had been the very definition of her identity for 14 years, and now he was gone.

She didn't know who to be. Didn't know if she had a choice. But surely she must have, since the man who'd taken away every last bit of herself was gone.

It was a fresh start for her, for Sophia.

She watched as Daryl and Morales dragged Ed's body to the spot they'd designated for the burials. But she couldn't decide if she wanted Ed to burn with the monsters or be put to rest along with the rest of their loved ones.

And then she allowed herself a compromise. He would be buried for Sophia, and she would get her own version of closure.

Daryl didn't question her at all when she'd demanded he hand her the pickaxe. And he only watched silently while she destroyed what was left of Ed's face as she cried for him, for Sophia, for herself.

He understood why she needed this. He even wished a little bit that he'd been given this same opportunity himself.

He said nothing when she handed him back the axe before walking away from it all, their eyes meeting briefly in an unspoken acknowledgement that it was over.

She felt the strength he lent her in their silent exchange, and she knew she would be okay. She was a fighter too.

* * *

**I would also like to tell you all (as I mentioned once to Tinkerbell99), when I think about it, I think season 4 was our best Caryl season yet! The writers went to great lengths to torture these characters, and what better way to do that to Caryl than to rip them apart? They started off so incredibly strong in episode 4x01, and that had to have been for a purpose (to make us even more angry when they were separated). Not to mention, they both suffered the most traumatic things they could each have possibly suffered in the back half of season 4...their stories paralleled in so many ways. Coincidence? Nope. No way. They'll be fine, and so will we. CARYL ON! oxox**


	15. Interruption

**Hi everyone! This tiny little ficlet is just something that popped into my head, and figured I'd get it out to make room for more (namely, finishing off chapter 3 of Medicine)...It's silly and pointless, but I figure this crew needs some of that once in a while ; )**

**It takes place between seasons 2 and 3, while the group is on the run.**

**I hope you enjoy, and _keep the Caryl pride alive!_ oxox**

* * *

The winter was long, but it was slowly – _finally_ – coming to an end.

They drove along the deserted highway with the rain pouring over them in sheets. How long had they been driving today? Hours, at least. Many, many hours. And they hadn't a clue what they were even looking for. Days like this one had made it all seem pointless.

Carol sat in the backseat, gazing blankly out the window with Carl slumped against her in a deep sleep. Lori was on his other side, also quiet. Also staring through her window at the nothingness it felt like they'd seen a million times.

Rick drove, with Daryl in the passenger seat, and not one of them had uttered a word for the entire ride. The tension was thick in the air, almost suffocating at times. The Grimes' situation was felt by everyone in their group, but Carol went where Lori went, and Daryl was forced into this car since the pick-up was at capacity.

Carol was happy for this arrangement. Daryl had always set her at ease simply by _being_.

Carol's eyes flitted to Rick's in the rear view mirror, and he only looked at her for a brief moment before focussing once again on the road. Rick was grateful to her, she knew, for the care she gave to his wife. He could barely look at Lori at all, but Carol knew he was desperate for her safety. She could sense it in everything he did, every decision he made.

And she knew she didn't give him enough credit, before. She had blamed him for what happened to Sophia and it tainted her faith in him. He was a good man, she knew that now. A good man whose shoulders held the world. She couldn't blame him for his faults, not anymore.

She looked to Daryl then, who had turned his head to look back at her. The question in his eyes asking if she was alright. Alright with what? Neither of them knew, really. Alright with everything, she supposed. With the company in the car, the constant hunger, the desperation, the cold, the unknown.

She attempted a smile, though the edge of her lip had barely moved, and her eyes remained stoic. His gaze lingered on hers before he turned around. She knew he felt helpless, but there was nothing any of them could do but stay alive. Even that was no easy feat these days.

And he did more for them than he would ever know. He was smarter and kinder than he ever gave himself credit for. He'd saved them all countless times with his strength and speed alone. He fed them. Made them feel better simply by surviving the way he had. He made it look almost easy. It was inspiring.

Daryl suddenly popped open the glove box, and Carol flicked her gaze in his direction before turning back to her window. She didn't know what he was looking for. He was probably looking for anything. That was typically what they hoped for nowadays. _Anything_.

"Here we go," he muttered quietly, a victorious edge to his voice.

Carol glanced at the back of his head in question, noticing Rick do the same, and watched the rain beat down as he popped a CD into the car's stereo.

She hardly thought it was the time for that, but she didn't have the give a damn to tell him so.

A second later, the sounds of the music started out low and slowly began to grow. She recognized it as classical music. She could hear the instruments working together to create their masterpiece. Strings, bass, woodwind and percussion. The music was soothing. Beautiful.

And unexpected.

What was he _doing_?

Her mouth curled up into a smile as she tried stifling the fit of laughter. But then she saw Rick's shoulders moving and caught his eye in the rear view mirror, squinting through his wide smile.

Carol clasped a hand over her mouth as she looked towards Lori, who was visibly losing the battle to keep her howling laughter discreet.

And then they all gave in, laughing heartily – as quietly as they could so as to not wake Carl – at Daryl Dixon's choice of music.

He turned to look at her then, his wide grin breathing new life into her. And she had no idea that the sound of her laughter and the glowing smile on her face had done the same for him.

"Daryl," she'd whispered through her snickering, shaking her head at his perfectly-timed silliness. A chuckle escaped him then, feeling beyond pleased with himself.

When he finally turned his body forward once again, his smile lingered as he relished in the image of Carol's wide smile and soft giggles. He'd made them all laugh on this horrible day. Made her laugh, specifically, which was the goal he'd had in mind all along.

And suddenly the rain didn't seem as daunting, and the day seemed a little bit brighter. At least, it did to Carol. And it did to Daryl.

They would find something soon. They had to.


	16. Respite

**I know, I know, it's been soooo long! I just have had a tiny bit of writer's block, and have been trying to focus on some little contest entries and stuff. But here's another one-shot for you!**

**It takes place in the prison, after Merle and Daryl get back. It's kind of another take on what I thought Daryl might be like...you know, like _that..._when he's angry. Kind of another angle on chapter 2 of Medicine, I guess. I know this little plot doesn't really technically fit into the actual show's story line, but I got a little carried away. : P**

**I definitely have at least one other ficlet that's basically ready to go for the Vagabonds which I'll hopefully post soon, and then I'm thinking of starting a new little one-shot series for our couple. **

**Thanks for reading! : )**

* * *

Just as soon as Carol had noticed how long Daryl and Rick had been gone to "talk" somewhere "private", the door opened and Daryl stormed in, heading directly to the table where he'd left his crossbow, gathering it up and slinging it over his shoulder. Carol watched silently, knowing the man never wanted to talk through moods like this one.

"Everythin' alright, Daryl?" Beth asked quietly.

He glared at her. "What's it look like to you, sunshine?"

Beth cringed at his snappy reply as Daryl stormed off, and Carol placed a hand on the girl's shoulder.

"It's not personal. He just needs a bit of time."

"What happened?"

"I have no idea," Carol mused as she continued with her darning.

She followed him into the shower room, after leaving him enough time to get cleaned up in peace.

He was standing at the row of sinks, leaning his fists on one of them, and wearing nothing but a towel, his skin still damp from his shower. She could see from where she stood that his face was still set in the angry mask he'd been wearing when he came in from his "talk" with Rick.

She didn't know what Rick had needed him for, but whatever it was had him completely on edge.

Daryl didn't move an inch when she came in, not minding that it was she who'd entered his private space. Not minding that she'd see him this way. Not minding that he was no longer alone to stew in his anger.

Had it been anyone else, he'd have told them to fuck off.

Because when Daryl got into these moods, the very last thing he ever wanted was for everyone to be after him to fucking _talk_ about it.

But Daryl knew why Carol was different. He knew why he treated her unlike the others.

It was because _she_ was different, to him. Meant more to him than probably anyone else in the entire world. And though he hated himself a little for it, the first time they'd slept together had cemented it in a whole new way. Like he was some teenage girl who'd slept with her boyfriend for the first time and started planning out their entire fucking future.

And had it been the way it was _before_, maybe he would have been imagining his future with her. Maybe he would see a kid on a tire-swing in his front yard, and Carol sitting on a blanket nearby, round with another one of his children and Sophia at her side.

Or maybe he'd see the two of them alone, curled up on a couch watching television, waiting for Sophia to get home from wherever the hell she might be on a Saturday night.

There may not have been much of a future to plan out anymore – _stay alive_ – but it was enough to make him territorial. She was his, plain and simple.

It was official the first time his mouth touched hers.

It tied them together tighter than he'd felt tied to her before. There was no denying anymore that she wasn't just his friend, his buddy. Now she was _everything_, and though he thought it would scare him to death or ruin whatever it was that they had, it only made it all better.

He was better. _Everything_ was better.

He was just so fucking in love with her, and he wasn't sure she even knew just how deep his feelings ran. It was a furiously intense type of sensation; one that reshaped his entire identity. But she loved him too – she'd told him so – and that was enough for him.

She walked up behind him silently, wrapped her arms around his middle, and placed a kiss on his back before pressing her cheek to his skin.

One of his hands grasped onto her forearm and he held it against him, closing his eyes and sighing through his frustration as he ran his thumb back and forth over her skin.

Carol said nothing, knowing he would talk in his own time. Knowing he would tell her when the time was right for him. She only wanted to remind him that she was there, always.

"He doesn't ever fuckin' listen to anyone," he growled angrily.

She stayed still and silent, and listened.

"He doesn't give a shit what I think. I'm just good for the dirty work."

She squeezed him tighter. "That's not true. He values you,"

He scoffed in response. "Like hell he does. Doesn't give a shit what I think about anything."

She slid her hands away from him and moved to lean her backside against the sink beside the one where he stood, crossing her arms over her chest. She looked up at him with concern, giving him her full attention so he could tell her whatever he wanted to.

"You should have seen him, when we found Merle. Wouldn't even let me fuckin' _talk_ to him. My own _brother_, Carol. And then Merle fuckin' saved our asses and fuckin' _Rick_ wouldn't have him come back with us. Didn't even seem to fuckin' care that I said I was leaving with Merle."

He glanced at her, aware of this point of contention. Aware of how she felt when she'd found out he left with Merle. She flinched at the mention of it, and it didn't go unnoticed by Daryl.

He'd already apologized, already told her how sorry he was for leaving her and not saying goodbye. She'd forgiven him – understood, even – and he would never, ever, take that for granted.

"He didn't…" Daryl broke off and ground his teeth together as he gathered his thoughts. "He didn't fight for me. Didn't give a shit if I stayed or left."

And Carol saw his point, she really did. Rick was a one-man show, or so he thought. He made the decisions he thought was best for everyone else and their only choice was to go along with it. Daryl was his henchman, through and through. She'd told him that before, but she wouldn't say it again. She would never kick him when he was down.

Daryl was loyal to a fault. And although sometimes he'd have moments where he'd get like this – question Rick's loyalty to _him_ – he would never turn his back on anyone in this family. Not ever.

Though it was becoming painfully obvious to them both that Rick might not have a problem leaving someone behind if they so much as disagreed with him on something he considered to be non-negotiable.

"Daryl, you're one of the smartest men I've ever met in my life. If he doesn't want to hear what you have to say-"

But she didn't need to say anymore. He didn't _want_ her to say anymore. He didn't want her to make him feel better with her kind and reassuring words.

He grabbed her face swiftly in his hands, moving in front of her and kissing her hard. Her hands flew to his forearms and she kissed him back just as deeply as he pushed her back against the sink behind her. His mouth went instantly to her jaw, licking and sucking a trail to her earlobe before making its way down the column of her throat, all the way to her collarbone.

She was already breathing heavily and they had barely just begun.

He all but ripped her clothes right off as quickly as he could, shedding his towel along the way, coming back often to bring his mouth to whatever body part he could reach.

Daryl was an asshole, and he knew it. And Carol knew how much he loved her, but right now wasn't about love. It was about blowing off steam and it made him love her even more for letting him take her this way.

He loved her so damn much for the way she seemed to love him even _more_ when he was at his worst.

But this wasn't the first time he'd fucked her for release, and they both knew it wouldn't be the last. And he didn't realize how little she minded when he got this way, because although he thought himself some sort of monster who all but forced himself on her, he never realized all that she was getting out of it.

She loved the way he nipped and sucked and licked and bit at her skin. The way he grabbed her hard and fast when he was in one of these moods. She loved making him feel good, and she loved the way he seemed a bit lighter when it was over. She loved the way he turned to her for this, the way her body could cure a bad day.

She loved him.

Carol was never sure if she should point out the thing she'd always noticed during these encounters. She wasn't sure he'd seen it, if he cared, or if he'd even want to know he was doing it.

But every single time, Daryl took care of her. Never once entered inside her until she got off first, or was close enough to her undoing that a few solid thrusts would finish the job.

Carol almost had more fun during these stress-releasing romps than she did when they tried their hand at the romance part. This way, he was driven by pure need, no frills getting in the way of the raw desire. It was clumsy and sometimes awkward, but it worked and it was simple. Just the two of them, giving in to the want that was too much to stay hidden in their stolen glances and innocent touches.

So when he was finished and she sunk into his arms as he held her propped up on the edge of the sink, she smiled as he buried his face in her neck and nibbled at the dampened skin there.

Their breath slowed as they came down from their high, and she tugged on his hair gently, bringing his face up to hers.

"I'll always hear what you have to say," she told him, still somewhat breathless.

He looked into her eyes, then trailed his gaze over the contours of her face before kissing her mouth passionately and letting their tongues tangle lazily together.

Their lips lingered as he pulled just barely away, and he knew she meant it. She'd told him before that she'd leave with him, if that's what he wanted. And just knowing that she had his back, trusted him so virtuously, gave way to a warmth that surged through his entire body.

"You've got more honor than any of us put together," she whispered. "I trust you more than anyone."

It was in these moments, where their unspoken connection was actually spoken, that gave him the comfort that sometimes wavered. He belonged somewhere, and so did she.

They fit together oddly but perfectly, the two of them, within this motley crew of survivors. Like they were together on the side-lines – the vagabonds – their own little group within the group.

And they'd wander this new world together, taking care of one another with everything they had, for however long they had left.


	17. Final

**Oh God. I know. I was supposed to post this _ages_ ago. But hear me out. I really wasn't sure if I wanted to go through with posting this, only because it contains a major character death (you've been warned, and yes, it's one of our couple) and I often don't even like reading those. So I thought to myself, _why_ would I post something I probably would skim right over?**

**So you have the choice to read or skip...I just re-read it and actually laughed at the end because it's so horrible that I don't know _what _I was thinking when I wrote it.**

**I wrote this during the season 4 mid-season break, so it's very much not consistent with what we know of the story now. And apparently I was super discouraged when I wrote this because it's just...sad. So so sad.**

**I believed (and still do, if we're being honest - xRainyDaysxx, you get me!) that Carl had something to do with these deaths, and that Carol was somehow helping him or covering up...so that's where this is. It takes place near a camp that Carol had been living in after being exiled, and had recently been reunited with Tyreese and the girls. Beth and Daryl had found Maggie, Glenn and Co., but Daryl went off on his own to look for Carol and found her. This fic starts off right after the two of them went off alone in the woods to catch up I guess, and had just fought off a group of walkers they encountered.**

**Enjoy! Or don't...because this is horribly depressing. **

* * *

"No, no, no," she mumbled to herself, swiping her fingers along her collarbone over and over and checking her hand, making sure that's really where the blood was coming from. She flinched when she felt the exposed flesh.

"No!" she finally shouted, anger taking over, as she stared in disbelief at the blood on her hand. Her blood. "God_damn_ it. Fuck!" she was bordering hysterical, shaking fiercely, and she vaguely noticed Daryl turning in her direction and running towards her.

"Jesus Christ, Carol, keep your voice down," he whisper-yelled as he approached.

She covered her mouth with one hand, forgetting about the desperate need they all had to be silent, and covered her collarbone with the other.

_This can't be happening. No. God, no. Please, God, no._

He saw the tears pooling in her eyes, doing little to mask the raw fear staring back at him.

"What happened? You bit?" his voice was bordering frantic as his eyes scanned the length of her, running his hands over her arms in an attempt to feel the evidence.

With shaky breaths, she uncovered the skin above her chest, revealing a scratch about two inches long, a half inch wide, and deep enough to release a flow of blood that now covered the fabric of her shirt below it.

Daryl's face blanched at the sight.

She was scratched. By a walker.

_No. Oh God, please, no. Not her. Please._

"Carol," his voice was a choked whisper.

And then she was whimpering, unable to stop the waterfall of tears that was now freely flowing from her eyes. She was officially dying. One split second was all it took.

He grabbed the bandana he kept in his back pocket and tried to clean up the gash, a desperate attempt to feel useful. To help her. Even though they both knew his efforts would be fruitless.

She stared at his face as his hands moved on her collarbone and chest, cleaning up as much of the blood as he could, being as gentle as he could possibly be, but she was helpless against the flow of tears that refused to let up.

He held the fabric against her wound as he allowed his eyes to travel to hers once more. The pain mirrored back at him was almost too much to bear.

"You're gonna be _fine_," he growled.

She shook her head angrily. "I'm not."

He ignored that. Pretended that she never said it.

"Does it hurt?" he asked. He swallowed thickly, almost not wanting to know the answer.

She shook her head, a sob escaping her at the sheer terror of this whole fucked up situation.

"No," she bawled. "It's just a scratch," she cried out in frustration. A scratch. "After all this, after everything," she shook her head in disbelief, looking down in defeat. "A scratch."

Her eyes closed briefly, squeezing out a few more tears, before she opened them to look into his eyes. His gaze hadn't wavered from her face even once, and the depth of emotion that was on display for her to see was almost comical.

So _this _is what it took to get a rise out of Daryl Dixon.

For a fleeting instant she was angry with him for not being able to give her this part of himself before. She had been holding back with him for fear of scaring him away. She had always been satisfied with what they had – happy, even – knowing it was still more than he'd given anyone else. But seeing the depth in his eyes in this horrible moment was proof enough of how strong his feelings ran for her, and everything he had to offer. And now she was dying and it was too late for anything.

"What do we do now?" her small voice asked him.

"We wait," he shrugged, looking more defeated than ever before.

She sniffed hard, wiping the tears from her face furiously.

"We wait," she mused. "How long?"

"As long as it takes."

"Could be days," she told him.

"So?"

"So, you should get back to Tyreese and the girls. Take them to Maggie and Glenn and Beth," she choked on their names. She would never see them again. Her family. "Sasha, and Bob," she finished.

"I ain't leavin' you."

"I don't want to put you in danger just so you can keep me company while I die."

"I'll take you back to your camp, you can be comfortable."

"No," she insisted hotly. "No. I don't want the girls to see. I'm staying out here."

"Then I'm stayin' with you."

His tone was final, and she knew how stubborn he was. He wouldn't relent. And if she was being honest with herself, she didn't want him to. She wanted him to stay with her. Wanted him to be the last person she saw.

She took a step towards him until they were almost touching. The magnitude of the situation hit her once more like a ton of bricks and she dropped her forehead to his chest, crying into him, clutching onto his shirt with desperation.

He didn't move to hold her back or touch her. He just stood there, sturdy as a brick wall, and let her cry against him. It didn't disappoint her, it was what she had expected of him. He wasn't much of a snuggler. Right up until the moment was all too much for him and he brought one hand to the back of her head and she felt his body shudder.

Was he crying? She lifted her head to look at him and saw the wetness that clouded his eyes as he stared down at her.

It was all she needed to clear her mind.

"Don't cry," she whispered, realization hitting her. "Let's not waste time crying."

She didn't want her last hours – maybe minutes – to be spent watching him cry. Or her crying and him holding her. No despair – it would throw this gift away. They were being given a chance to say goodbye – a chance that was ripped away from them when she was exiled from her home at the prison – and she refused to let it slip through her fingers with childish whimpering.

He sniffed back his tears as he took a deep breath and got a hold of himself as his hand slipped from her hair back to his side.

She brought a hand up to the side of his face, brushing his hair out of his eyes with the light touch of her fingertips. His hand came up to gently hold her wrist, running his fingers along her forearm soothingly as he let his eyes close to enjoy the sensation of her fingertips on his face.

She brought her other hand up, her thumbs stroking his cheekbones tenderly as she gazed at his face.

She suddenly drew her hands back down, taking both of his gently and, while keeping her blue eyes locked on his, brought them slowly to rest on her hips. To her surprise, he didn't pull them away. Instead, he squeezed them tightly before pulling her closer. She reached up on her toes, pulling his face towards hers slowly, giving him every chance to stop what was happening.

But the reality was that she was a dying woman who was out to get what she wanted. Enough was enough; this was their last chance at getting to where they needed to be.

Their noses brushed feather-light on one another, and she watched his eyes fall closed at their proximity. Listened to his slow and steady breaths quicken just a bit as his lips parted ever so slightly.

Her eyes scanned his face as she inched herself closer and closer, until their lips were touching in a soft kiss.

She pulled back just barely and then kissed him again, just the same, and felt her pulse quicken at the way his hands slid further along her back, pressing her more tightly to him.

As she pulled her lips away the second time, she let her eyes scan his face once more. She brushed her mouth over his, letting him know she wasn't anywhere near done, before diving in a little deeper. His lips parted easily for her, and there they stood, kissing deeply, slowly and passionately in the middle of the woods.

The progression was slow and steady – the perfect pace for her to relish every single moment. She soaked in the feeling of his hands sliding under her shirt, up her bare back, her elation at how easily he let her slide his shirt off his body, the moment her skin touched his skin as their mouths continued exploring and clothes were shed.

She wasn't sure how they'd made it as far as they did – up against a tree, on the ground amongst the fallen leaves. She'd never thought she was the type of woman to let herself go enough to make love outside the modest safety of a bedroom, but people did crazy things when they were in love, and dying.

* * *

"I can't believe I never knew you had a tattoo," he joked, as he buttoned up his pants and marveled at his intimate discovery of her body.

She smiled. "I was young. Stupid. I got it with my girlfriends when I turned eighteen," she explained as she buttoned up her shirt.

They finished dressing and made their way to sit next to one another against the low stone wall. Thighs and shoulders touching, because at this point they were grasping at straws. The clock was ticking and this was all they had left.

"Never figured you for a wild one," he joked.

"I wasn't. But my parents _hated_ the idea," she laughed, and he smiled as he watched her face.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, changing the topic as he was clearly unable to stop thinking about their impending separation.

"Still fine," she smiled what she thought was reassuring. She didn't realize he could tell how scared she was by the way her voice shook just a bit. By the way her smile didn't touch her eyes.

She reached over and planted a kiss to his neck, just below his ear, and took his hand in hers.

* * *

"I never did, I swear," she insisted.

"Liar," he sneered.

"I swear. Really and truly."

"Not even once? Not even in high school?"

She shook her head. "Not even then. I have never smoked pot in my whole life. I was so good at resisting peer pressure," she said proudly.

"Except the tattoo."

"That wasn't peer pressure. That was just plain old rebellion."

"Right. Of course." He rolled his eyes teasingly.

She giggled.

* * *

"When's your birthday?" she asked him.

"My birthday? Who cares?"

"I do." She was looking up at him in wonder, studying his face close up as her chin rested on his shoulder. Her body stayed moulded to his as they sat against the rocks. She wanted to know everything about him before her time was up.

He sighed, a tiny smile curling up at the ends of his mouth. "March thirteenth."

She smiled.

"When's yours?" he countered.

"November twenty-third."

* * *

"I was a ballerina before I met Ed."

"Shut up."

"I was," she smiled. "Took ballet lessons my whole life. Wanted to make a career out of it. I was in a ballet company and everything."

"And then?"

"And then I met Ed. And he thought dancing was too suggestive," her voice lowered as she finished her sentence.

"Asshole," Daryl bit out.

Carol smiled. "Yeah."

* * *

"You still feeling alright?"

She nodded. "Nothing yet," she affirmed quietly. But they both knew it was coming. "Maybe I really will be okay."

"Maybe."

* * *

"Tell me about Merle," she smiled.

"What's there to know? You knew Merle."

"I didn't," she said, shaking her head. "I want to know _your_ Merle. How he was when you were kids. The part of him that had a soft spot for you."

Daryl softened as the memories of his childhood came back. Because in the middle of all the pain and hurt and suffering, all the fear and loathing, Merle was the only person he could look back on fondly. Was the only person who gave him any semblance of love, even though those moments were few and far between, and masked in a hard shell of tough love.

And so he told her about the brother no one else ever got the chance to really know. About the times Merle would kick some kid's ass for teasing him. Or take the fall for something his daddy was about to beat his ass for – when he was around to do it.

"Merle made me feel like I mattered to someone. Even if he had a fucked up way of showing it. He told me he loved me every chance he got."

"You do matter."

* * *

"Daryl?" Her voice was tentative, breaking the silence they had been enjoying for the last 15 or so minutes.

"Hm?"

She sighed softly before bringing her eyes up to meet his. "It's starting."

He said nothing in response, instead focussing on controlling the quivering of his bottom lip. He wouldn't cry, of this he was resolved. He wouldn't waste their last hours together with tears. For her.

He took hold of her hand and clasped it tight, and the two of them began the waiting game.

* * *

"Ed wasn't always a monster."

Daryl raised an eyebrow at her in disbelief. She smiled at his skepticism.

"He wasn't. The signs were all there, though. I just never saw them until it was too late. He was so…charming. I didn't realize I'd married a monster until I was already pregnant with his child."

Daryl nodded. He was never one to question why she ever stayed with him as long as she did. He understood what it was like to have undying loyalty to someone you think you love. Someone you think loves you. Someone you're downright terrified of.

"That asshole deserved what he got."

She sighed and nodded in agreement, resting her head on his shoulder. Snuggling in closer.

He reached up with his opposite hand and felt her warming forehead.

Tick tock.

* * *

She turned her head away from him and coughed into her arm. She felt him tense at her side.

When the coughing fit subsided, he wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close.

"You okay?" he whispered.

"Sure."

* * *

"Why did you cover for him?" Daryl asked her.

"Because. He didn't deserve to be punished. He really was trying to help. He really did think he was doing the right thing. He's just a kid."

"And then Rick abandoned you for it."

"I couldn't let everyone find out it was Carl. I just couldn't do that to him."

"So, what then? He has no consequences for murdering two people? You take the fall for something you didn't even do?"

"I didn't think that far ahead. I never thought Rick would take it that far. And when we were standing there and he was telling me I wasn't coming back, I almost told the truth. _Almost_. But, I couldn't. I figured it was better me than Carl."

"Rick never would have thrown his own son out."

"You're probably right."

"I _know_ I'm right."

Carol paused, debating whether or not to ask her next question. She decided that since she was mere minutes away from kicking the bucket, she may as well. She took a deep breath.

"How did you know it wasn't me?" she asked Daryl, hugging her knees to her chest and looking at him with curious eyes.

"You're not a killer."

She nodded her assent. She knew she wasn't a killer, but she wasn't entirely convinced that Daryl wouldn't have fallen for it eventually. Consented to Rick's accusations since it was all they had to hold onto at the time. Her confession. But his voice was so resolute now, that she believed that he knew her better than that, and he did.

"I'm surprised he told you the truth. I thought he'd tell you all I was eaten by walkers or something."

"He said you didn't care. That you did it for the good of the group. I knew you'd never do something like that without suffering for it. It ain't you."

"Are you angry with me?" She asked.

He looked over at her then, intent on proving to her that he wasn't.

"No. Just plain angry. I'm glad you weren't there when the Governor came. It was a fuckin' bloodbath, Carol. I just…I just wish I would have known. Wish I could have helped. Done something. Made you stay. Said goodbye, at least."

"Me, too."

She wiped the sweat from her brow.

* * *

"No one's ever loved me like you do," she said quietly.

His eyes shot up to meet hers, his gaze intent. "I do," he said with conviction.

"I know," she began, but he interrupted.

"No. Let me say it."

She kept her mouth shut as he took a moment to form the words. To bring them to his lips so that he could tell her exactly what he felt. How much this all hurt him. How deeply angry he was at this whole messed up situation.

"I love you," his gruff voice told her.

And within a fraction of a second, her eyes were brimming with tears and she looked down at her lap, nodding in understanding at his confession. She heard everything his words didn't say; everything his words meant to say. And it was _everything_.

She looked back up at him through her unshed tears, and her voice was barely more than a whisper when she replied, "I love you, too."

Then she curled herself into his side a little tighter, resting her head on his shoulder and holding his hand tightly with both of hers.

* * *

"You're the best man I know, Daryl Dixon," she said dimly.

He glanced up at her and silently took in the light sheen of sweat covering her skin, the paleness of her complexion, the dryness of her mouth. She was deteriorating.

"You're goin' crazy. It's that fever."

"Nope," she shook her head with a smile tugging at her mouth. "You are. I've known it from almost the second I met you."

"Stop," he chastised gently, bringing the hand he held up towards his chest and clasped it tighter.

"You're wonderful. And beautiful. And intelligent. And kind. And funny…when you wanna be," she joked weakly.

He nudged into her gently as a blush crept across his face. She smirked at how much he always fidgets when he's paid any kind of compliment.

"I'm so glad I know you," she said.

He kissed the hot skin of her soft, pale hand.

* * *

"You can't let me turn," she said suddenly.

He looked up at her, speechless. He'd been at war with himself since the moment he saw that scratch on her skin. A part of him didn't want to have to jam his knife into her head until it was absolutely necessary. The other part of him couldn't bear to wait long enough to have to fight her off, the way he did with Merle.

"Daryl," her voice was stern. "You can't let me turn. You have to kill me before I come back. Before I try to…" she choked on her words. All she could see in her head was her zombie-self lunging at the man she loves, trying to tear him bit by bit. The thought turned her stomach.

"I don't want you to see my eyes like that," she whispered. "Hear me making those…_sounds_." She swallowed hard. "I want you to only know me like this. With these eyes. Promise me, Daryl. I don't want to be like that."

He couldn't speak. He could only look at her. Memorize her face for the millionth time before the inevitable. Memorize her eyes.

"Promise me," she whispered, her tone a desperate plea.

"I promise," he finally relented, choking out his words with more effort than it should ever have taken.

* * *

"I'm so tired," she mused.

"You should sleep."

_Don't fall asleep._

"I don't wanna sleep. I don't wanna leave you."

"You can't stay awake, you can barely even keep your head up."

_Don't you dare fall asleep. Don't you dare leave me again._

His spoken words had a bitter edge to them. He knew it was coming, and it was coming fast. He didn't want her to sleep either; wanted her to stay awake until her very last breath so that he could keep hearing her voice and looking into her clear blue eyes. But he wanted her to be comfortable. And as much as the thought made him sick, he was happy she'd get the chance to be sleeping when it happened. He wanted her to go in peace.

Die in your sleep. Doesn't everyone want that? To die peacefully in your sleep and have someone who loves you stab a knife into your brain so you don't turn into a zombie? Nowadays, it was the best way to go.

She looked up at him, attempting a weak protest. "I can stay awake," she had begun to say, but he interrupted her with a subtle shake of his head.

"Sleep, Carol." His voice was a gruff whisper. His eyes were sad, but not too far gone that she didn't see what he was saying. It was easier this way, on both of them.

She looked into his eyes for a moment, taking in their blue, taking in their intensity, taking in their love. She nodded in assent.

He nudged her gently into a more comfortable position so she could sleep. She lay across his body and he clutched her tightly as she curled herself into his chest, his bent leg helping to prop her up. She held tightly to his shirt – as tightly as she could, though he could barely even feel it.

* * *

"I'm going to miss you," she said with a weak and shaky voice.

"Stop."

"I am. Out of everyone I've ever known, I'll miss you the most. You and Sophia."

He tightened his grip on her. "I'll miss you, too."

"The most?" she attempted at a joke, her mouth barely curling up into a half-smile, her eyes flitting open for a fraction of an instant.

"The most." He swallowed the lump in his throat. Because it was true. But if he tried saying anything else, he'd be reduced to a sobbing, blubbering mess.

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

* * *

She fell asleep within a minute of her last 'I Love You'. Her hands held limply to his shirt and her breath was laboured but even. He focused on that – her breathing. He took comfort in it while he could.

And as he sat and held her and waited, he could only think about how fucked up this world had become, and how the universe was shitty for giving him exactly what he wanted before ripping it brutally from his hands.

He forced his tears away with every ounce of energy he could muster, not wanting to shake her out of her slumber or have her wake to the sounds of his weeping. She didn't need that. She needed peace. She needed to slip away quietly. It was what she deserved, even though this fate was the very _last_ thing she deserved.

* * *

Hours more had passed before he felt her take her last breath. Hours before he felt the shift in the limpness of her body. The telltale slump of her head and arm that confirmed it. He could no longer hear her breathing, and he could no longer feel her life.

Dawn would break soon, and he'd be heading back to her camp without her.

He allowed his suppressed sobs to escape, echoing in the emptiness of the woods. Allowed the gushing flow of tears he had been holding back. His grief plagued his body hard as he clutched her tightly to himself.

He needed to end it for her, like she wanted, but he couldn't bring himself to let her go. How was he supposed to let her go?

He could barely even see. His tears were clouding his vision. He couldn't stop crying. He just couldn't stop.

She had changed him – fundamentally changed him – since she'd come into his life. For a brief moment he hated her for it. She had turned him into someone who let himself care about other people. If he didn't care, all of this loss would be easier. If he didn't care about _her_, he'd be able to do what was needed and walk away. Hell, they probably wouldn't even be in this position in the first place.

The next moment had him wondering if he should just let her turn. Let her turn and do her worst.

At least it would be her. Her mouth on his skin, her teeth tearing through him. If that was to be his fate, he'd want it to be her.

What was the point anymore? Everyone was dying. This new world was all about death and there was no end in sight. What was he fighting for anymore?

He quashed that thought as fast as it came. That wasn't who he was. It was the grief talking. She would never want him to become that person. He was a survivor. _She_ was a survivor. After losing everything she had, she persevered, she pushed. She made herself a new life with the strangers she now called family. She was all alone, like he was, and they used one another to pull through. They did it together and alone.

And then she really was alone. For months, she had made it all alone. Fed herself, protected herself.

He would survive for her.

He would remember her every single day. Her voice, her eyes, her heart.

He would remember what they got to share in her last hours. What they'd given to one another. It's what would push him forward.

He would be the last man standing, if he had anything to do with it. For no one else but her.

His newfound fierce determination is what made him stop. He loosened his grip on her enough to look down at her face. Her beautiful and peaceful face. He kissed her cheeks, her forehead, her nose, her chin. Lifted her arm gently by the wrist and kissed her hand.

And then he gently laid her down on the ground, kneeling beside her and taking one more look at her. His eyes roamed the planes of her face in desperation, and he planted one last shaky kiss on her mouth.

He unsheathed his knife from his waistband and laid it beside them. He held her hand and just kept looking at her, debating with himself over and over if he really could do this. Could he really drive a knife through her brain?

He tried to tell himself over and over that it was better to do it before she woke into her new self. It was better, but not easier. Easy would be defending himself against the monster she was becoming. It was second nature.

But he didn't want to see her that way. She didn't want him to. She didn't want to be that monster. It was her last request from him, for God's sake.

And so the battle raged on in his head, his hand clenching and unclenching the knife beside him.

At last, he decided. He would honour her wishes, because he loved her. Any other option would be a broken promise. He wouldn't let himself argue the alternative. It was decided. It sucked and it was fucked up, but he'd already had to kill his brother. This world was fucked up long before Carol got scratched by the undead.

So he tightened his grip on his knife. Looked at her as he lifted it, shifting it into his right hand.

He wept, and wept, and couldn't seem to stop the flow of tears that flowed relentlessly down his face.

It was just all so fucked up. All of it. Dead people walking around, eating people. Turning them into whatever the hell they were. As if watching her die – _feeling_ her die in his arms – wasn't bad enough, now he had to break her. Stab her in the head to make sure she was really dead. What kind of sick, twisted torturous game was the universe playing?

He took a deep breath to steady himself, his mind telling her over and over how much he loved her, how much she meant to him.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

And then he plunged his knife through her skull, ending it all forever.

He slumped down beside her for a minute, panting through the anger and sadness and grief that overwhelmed him.

And then he got up. Caught his breath a little more as he stood beside her. Sheathed his knife.

He picked her up and remembered the last time he had carried her this way. He had been saving her life, then. He swallowed back the fresh tears that tried pushing their way out.

And he carried her back to her camp, so that they could bury her properly.

The grief ate him alive, and he didn't know how he would ever move on. How he would ever push forward.

But then he remembered who she was and what she'd fought through, and remembered his promise to himself.

And so he pushed forward and fought hard, for the woman he loved. For Carol.

* * *

**...so are we still friends? I would love to hear what you think about this.** **Thank you _so _much for reading : )**


	18. April Showers

**Hi, all! I know, I know, I haven't posted on this site for quite some time...I've been mainly over at Nine Lives, since it's exclusively Caryl and I was a bit of a Caryl hermit during all of the shipping drama. I just needed to immerse myself in Caryl positivity : P**

**This is a fluffy little fic that I'd written for Fairies Masquerade after she gave me the prompt "mud fight". I posted it a while back on Nine Lives and am going to start bringing all my new stuff over here as well. Takes place between seasons 2 and 3, just because I missed T-Dog ; )**

**I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

They crossed paths as she headed down to the stream from where he'd just come, to the little designated bathing area.

They eyed one another and she shot him a shy smile as she peeked through her lashes, and he couldn't help the upward curve of his lips in return.

"You look...different," she told him.

"You mean _clean?" _he teased.

She smirked, having stopped in her tracks to stand right in front of him. And then she carefully set her face in a contemplative glare, eyeing him from head to toe.

He shifted under her gaze, fidgeting shyly with the strap of his crossbow.

She pretended to ignore the drops of water that remained on his skin from his recent washing. The way his clothes clung to him just barely from the moisture. His arms were bare today. It had been raining for days up until this morning, and they were now being blessed with the most welcome warm and sunny Spring day.

"Something's...missing..." she said, as though she was thinking aloud.

He furrowed his brow in response, the smile he wore still lingering on his lips.

She grinned in response, and bent down to grab a small handful of the mud they were standing in. She took a step towards him, and reached her arm up. His eyes followed the movement, getting more and more confused as her muddy hand approached his face.

And then it happened.

She smeared the mud on his cheek and let her hand slide down, dragging the filth across his jaw and neck.

And he stood, open mouthed and completely shocked, staring wide eyed at her smiling face.

"I _just_ washed up."

She grinned. "I know. But this is just so much more..._you_."

She giggled and turned to make her way down to the river, but was stopped by the unmistakable feeling of sloppy, cold, wet goo, oozing its way down the sides of her head and over her ears, from where it had been dropped on the very top of her head.

Carol gasped loudly and froze in place, turning around slowly to watch Daryl, standing in front of her and fighting laughter. "Oh. That's just..._real_ mature, Daryl," she nodded exaggeratedly, stepping closer to him once again.

He snickered then, though he still backed up a step.

"You started it," he defended.

"Oh, are you gonna tell on me now?" she teased.

"Damn," he laughed. "Never took you for such a bully."

And he just barely sucked out of the way in time for a glob of mud to go flying past his head.

And just like that, it was on.

They pulled and grabbed at one another, throwing and smearing mud all over the place, entirely unaware of Glenn narrating the entire scene to T-Dog not 30 feet away.

"Look at them. Like children," he chastised, shaking his head in mock disapproval.

"Damn. 'Bout time we had a little fun around here," T-Dog replied, craning his neck as he watched the spectacle in front of him.

"Am I the only one who thinks they should just hook up already? I mean...what _is_ this?"

But T-Dog said nothing, only kept watching with his eyes narrowed in confused interest at the two grown adults having a mud fight like children in the middle of a world gone mad.

"Oh, watch. Just one...second...yup. There it is," Glenn said without a touch of inflection as they watched Daryl and Carol stumble to the ground.

They both groaned loudly as they hit the ground and made no move to get up, only laid there in the mud side by side.

"I'm too old for this shit," Daryl muttered, his breath heavy from exertion.

"I know. I'm exhausted. Damn."

And they took a few minutes to catch their breath as they stared into the blue sky.

"Hey, Daryl," Carol began, turning to look at him.

He grunted in response.

"Need another bath?"

His eyes snapped to hers and widened slightly at the mischief in her eyes before his face dissolved into a sly smile. "Yeah..."

She grinned at him and giggled, and they stood to make their way to the stream just as she'd intended all along, tossing mud at one another the whole way down.

After all, they needed to make this bath count.

* * *

**Thanks a million for reading : )**


	19. Funny Valentine

**This little guy was written for the USS Caryl's Bloody Valentine's Day challenge...not sure why I never posted it here, but here it is! Thanks so very much for reading : )**

* * *

A lot had changed for them after the farm. Not one of them had come out of that experience the same person they'd been before it.

Before all the walkers, before the barn.

And a lot had changed for Daryl. It seemed he was a different man than he always assumed he was – or rather, that he could be. And it was a jarring experience, to find out you were nothing like the person you always thought you were. To find out you really did want things that you had fought against your entire life.

Like happiness. Family. Love.

It was the type of thing that made you start to question everything about yourself, and everything around you. It was the type of thing that viciously ripped away your security blanket and left you feeling naked in front of a room full of strangers.

He found himself paying a bit more attention to everyone now. To her. He couldn't wrap his head around the way she seemed so confident in who he was. How she seemed to know him better than he'd ever known himself. She'd given him reasons and she'd given him trust, and nowadays he found himself opening up to the possibility of this new family.

_You've earned your place_.

Maybe he could be a real part of them. And not just because he fed them, fought for them. Not just because he had the brawn and the skills. Not just because they needed him.

Maybe he really did care for them – loved them, even. And maybe they really did care for him too. She did, for certain. It was the one thing in his life that he knew for sure, and he'd stopped fighting the comfort it brought him long ago.

_I don't care. _

_Well, I do. I can't lose you, too_.

And so he didn't fight it when he overheard Lori and Carol from the living room as they made casual conversation in the kitchen, likely folding the laundry they'd just brought inside. He didn't fight the fact that he wanted to listen in. They knew others could hear them, it wasn't like they were hiding. So he decided that this time, he wouldn't feel even a little bit badly about it and just kept on working at building the fire in the fireplace.

"One year Rick got me a giant stuffed bear. It was..."

"Big?" Carol finished, and the two giggled at the man's idea of romance.

"I didn't know what to do with it, it was just _there_. He was always a romantic, though. So attentive."

"Ed gave me flowers, _every_ year," Carol said with a wistful tone. "A dozen red roses."

"Really?" Lori asked, though it came out like a statement. "He didn't really strike me as the type." Her voice trailed off cynically.

"Oh, he wasn't. I never really understood it myself. He'd come home from work, lay them on the counter while I made dinner, walk up to me and kiss me, right on the mouth. And then he'd go off to watch TV, without a word. I'd put them in a vase and leave them on the little table by the front door where the light was nice, and we never said two words about it. Not ever."

But Daryl understood it. He understood it completely. His daddy treated his mama like garbage most of the time. Beat her and manipulated her into thinking she wasn't worth a damn thing. And then he'd buy her flowers every now and again, or get real sweet on her, just enough to give her a shred of hope that things were going to change. Of course, they never did.

"Wow. Ed Peletier: mystery man. Who'd have thought he was a flowers and chocolates type?" Lori mused.

"Oh, not chocolates. Never chocolates," Carol corrected her with a mocking scorn lacing her tone. "He never let me eat sweets, we didn't even have them in the house. Said he didn't want me getting fat. Which is kind of ironic..."

"Ah," Lori responded knowingly. "Now _that_ certainly sounds like the Ed I knew. I don't think I could live without jelly beans, myself."

"I'm a chocolate girl, through and through. I used to keep a bag of chocolate chips in my purse. He never knew about it."

And then they laughed again.

"You sneaky little devil," Lori joked, earning a chuckle from Carol.

Daryl's mouth quirked into a smile at the exchange, soothed by the sound of Carol's radiant laughter.

"It's how I learned to be stealthy," Carol teased, causing him to swallow back an errant emotion thickly. The meaning behind that statement wasn't lost on him. She knew better than to get caught. Over something as ridiculous as a bag of chocolate chips.

Luckily Lori caught onto her implication and steered the conversation back to the lighter side.

"I would kill for some jelly beans right about now."

"Maybe we should drop Rick a hint to keep his eyes peeled for some. And maybe a giant stuffed bear, too."

Lori chuckled halfheartedly and mumbled something so low that Daryl couldn't make it out.

There was a pause and neither of the women spoke for several seconds.

"Valentine's Day," Carol mused. "Seems silly nowadays, anyhow. I'll take a can of refried beans any day of the week over a giant stuffed bear." Her voice was soothing. He could tell that she was trying to make Lori feel better, since nowadays her husband barely looked in her direction.

Daryl smirked at that, seeing them clearly in his mind. He was almost certain Carol had her arm around her friend, pulling her towards her for comfort.

Not a minute later, Carol wandered into the living room with the laundry basket on her hip. She gave him a small smile that he automatically returned as she walked past him to the window ledge. She took out each small pile of neatly folded clothing and placed them next to one another, already separated for their owners.

He poked at the fire as though he wasn't watching her out of the corner of his eye, but looked up at her when she approached. He stood from his crouch and faced her, and she presented his small pile with outstretched arms, balancing them on her hands as though it were a platter.

"For you," she smiled.

He dipped his head in thanks and chewed on the inside of his mouth, gently taking the clothes from her hands and returning her smile with a shy one of his own.

Her eyes lingered on his as she turned to walk away, and he watched as she picked up the basket and made her way up the stairs.

Two days later, when the group was packing their things to move on from their temporary safe house, Carol grabbed an extra pair of socks from the dresser drawer as an afterthought and flipped open the flap of her bag.

She paused just before she tossed the socks inside when she saw the item that very distinctly didn't belong there.

She lifted the little bag, a wide smile overwhelming her as the sounds of the crinkling plastic flitted wonderfully to her ears. And her fingers traced the post-it note that was stuck just on top of the bag of milk chocolate chips. She smiled at the uneven writing, its scribbly style pulling her mind towards the man who wrote it.

_For you_.

He watched her from his seat on his motorcycle, following just after Maggie through the front door. His heart began to pound and he became irrationally nervous, wondering how she would react to his little gift. How she would thank him in front of everyone. He really hadn't thought this far ahead.

Her eyes scanned the group and met his across the lawn. His stomach turned with the erratic beating of his heart, right before his whole world melted away.

She smiled brightly at him and nodded her head in thanks as she made her way to the pick up truck where she would be riding. And he smiled back at her, ducking his head in embarrassment, all tongue-in-cheek as relief washed over him. Not one person had even noticed the exchange.

And so the little bag of chocolate chips remained a thing just for them.

He heard the crumpling of the plastic before he even knew she was behind him, having climbed to the roof of the gas station they found, where he kept watch late that night. She sat next to him wordlessly and quirked an eyebrow as she tore the bag open, taking his hand gently to pour some the chocolate into his cupped palm and doing the same for herself.

"Happy Valentine's day," she muttered.

"Stop," he teased, nudging her side. He paused for a moment, enjoying the melting chocolate on his tongue before he spoke ever so softly. "Ain't a dozen roses, but-"

"It's _better_," she interrupted.

He looked up at her and blushed when he saw her smiling face in the dim moonlight, looking out towards the dark landscape ahead of them.

"Yeah?" he asked, his eyes locked on her face as he suppressed a smile.

"Best one ever," she mumbled, studiously avoiding his gaze.

"Yeah," he agreed after a moment. "Me, too."


	20. Teacher - Part 2

**Hi there! This is a continuation from Chapter 6 of this one-shot series ("Teacher")...I had never intended to write a second part to this one but had a burst of an idea one day and decided to give it a go.**

**Thanks so much for reading, I hope you enjoy : )**

* * *

He heard it before he saw it.

Grunting. Some muffled words, spoken quietly. The unmistakable sound of a backhand to the face. Some pathetic whimpering, and some more muffled words.

Daryl began to make his way towards the sound, unsure of where exactly it was coming from in the thick brush of the woods. He had to change direction once or twice, his gut twisting with the familiar cocktail of anger and nausea.

_Please, stop. Please._

He switched direction once again with the strangled, pleading sob.

Then came the sounds of some more struggling, the begging voice now grunting with some sort of impact.

He knew who it was, it was entirely impossible not to know what had been going on in that family.

When Daryl finally spotted them he instinctively coiled to spring forward, but thought better of it as he grasped a tree to steady himself. Being a witness would only make it worse for her. Having him barge in on what Ed Peletier had meant to be a private moment wouldn't help her in the slightest.

But the image of the man's wife – Carol, she'd tried telling him earlier though he'd already known – pressed up against that tree with Ed's thick leg pressing between her thighs, pinning her there with his hip, made him want to gag.

He could no longer watch the image of her pushed against the trunk with her shirt pulled up, exposing her bra, as Ed ripped her pants open and reached his hand roughly down below.

Daryl placed his forearm against the tree and rested his sweaty forehead against his skin, fighting himself against the sounds of her whimpers as he squeezed his eyes tightly shut. All of her cries. All of her _Please Ed, not here. Please._

"You wanna make a fool of me, you dumb bitch? You want these people thinkin' you're some kinda whore?"

She whimpered incoherently and the sounds were abruptly cut off, changing instantly to the unmistakable sound of someone grasping for breath.

Daryl's ears zeroed in on Ed's menacing words to his wife.

"Who do you think you are? You _cunt_. Making nice with that trashy fucker? You think you're tough shit, huh? Stupid slut."

He straightened up as he looked anywhere _but_ at the Peletiers, ready to intervene.

But then his mind flashed back to the time his third grade teacher had pulled him aside and asked how he got his black eye, though she's already known. The pity in her eyes – it was just one of the many times the humiliation had engulfed him and hurt almost more than the beating itself.

And so he clenched his fists and attempted at controlling his breathing, trying to will himself to just leave.

_You know you'll make it worse, you dumb fuck. Just leave them be_, he chastised himself, hoping it would be enough to drown out the anguishing sounds around him.

But he couldn't walk away. He wouldn't just abandon her. He wondered fleetingly if this was what it felt like to be on the other side. To be one of the people who only wanted to help without knowing they were just making it all so much worse.

The decision was made for him when he heard Carol's muffled yelp once more, and Daryl's eyes snapped to the scene at their own will as he saw Ed push away from her. He placed a heavy hand on the back of her neck with an audible _smack_ and shoved her to the ground before stomping away.

And Carol stayed there. Waiting. Keeping her face to the ground as she worked to stifle her cries.

Her shirt had fallen now, half of it still caught on the upper part of her bra, but the other side limply covering just down to her rib cage. Her pants loose around her waist as they remained open.

He slowly emerged from behind the tree where he'd been hiding himself, and walked over to her slowly, and loudly enough so as not to startle her.

Daryl watched as her eyes flitted to the ground by his feet as his steps grew closer, always averting her gaze back to the ground just beneath her. And he watched the way her heaving chest shuddered, the way the smattering of yellowing bruises covered her ribs. She grew smaller as he grew nearer, and when he reached a hand towards her to help her up, she recoiled violently and covered her head. Just as he knew she would.

But the blow never came and she slowly removed her forearm from where it covered her face, peeking up at the hand reaching for her with trepidation. Just hovering there, a foot away from her face. Upturned. Offering.

Carol's gaze travelled up the length of the arm attached to the hand, until she was met with Daryl's eyes looking back at her. Expressionless.

There was no shift in her features at all – not the slightest twitch of her jaw or eyebrows or mouth – but the look in her glassy eyes told him everything, and he understood.

_Humiliated._

So he held firm, his hand still outstretched towards her, swallowing back the emotion against the embarrassment in her eyes.

But then she took his hand and he helped her up to stand on shaky legs.

He turned his back to her immediately and heard the ruffling of her clothing as she moved them back into place. He peeked over his shoulder to be sure she was done, just as she wiped feverishly at the tears blanketing hers cheeks and neck.

Almost too fast for his reflexes, she shot forward, trying to move past him, but he was faster. He grabbed her as gently as he could by the wrist and she thankfully complied, jerking her hand away from his grasp with only the slightest bit of force.

"He ain't gone back that way," he offered gently.

Carol paused a brief moment and contemplated his words, eyes locked in the direction of their camp. Her own resolve won out and she darted forward once more.

Again, he stopped her with a touch to her wrist and again, she complied.

"She's fine, and that cop is there. Ain't nothing gonna happen to her," he tried to reason.

Her eyes travelled to meet his as she took in the soft tone of his voice. It was so unlike the way she'd come to know him. All brash and crude. Loud and invasive.

She'd only just begun to suspect, and he spoke once more, eyes soft and voice low.

"She don't gotta see you like this."

And the pieces fit together then with a satisfying _click_.

So she nodded her understanding at him, and he nodded back as he nibbled his lip. He jerked his head in the opposite direction, his silent question to follow him, and she did.

He led her to a small stream hidden in the thick of the woods. The quarry was too open and the traffic there was always high enough that she'd most certainly be seen.

He motioned for her to go ahead and wash up, and she did.

Daryl turned away and kept a safe enough distance between them to give her the illusion of privacy, keeping an ear out for the dead ones. Or her husband.

When Carol was finished, she made her way back to him, and he turned to see that she looked visibly better, her clothes clinging to her skin just a bit from the water that hadn't dried off.

She'd missed a spot though – the cut to her lip from when he'd slapped her across the face – and the blood had trickled down just a little onto her chin.

"You got a—" he began, illustrating his point by motioning vaguely to her chin and then his own.

Her brow furrowed in confusion and she lifted a hand to touch the spot he may have meant, but the blood had already dried and nothing had come off onto her fingertips.

He shook his head dismissively as he pulled a rag from his back pocket. He took a few long strides over to the water's edge and wet it before coming back to stand in front of her.

"Can I—" his question trailed off as he lifted the rag tentatively, and she eyed it for a moment before allowing an apprehensive nod.

Daryl held her face still with one hand and Carol flinched as he brought the wet rag up to her face. Anticipating that it would be cold from the water, or that he would be firm enough to reawaken the pain.

But he'd been warming the rag with the heat of his hand, and his touch was surprisingly gentle.

His gaze was studiously on his work and hers was everywhere but on his face. As though Ed would somehow know that she'd been looking at him and throw her off a cliff for it.

When she felt his hands pull away slowly she allowed herself a glance in his direction, and he'd been looking at her with those soft, pitiless eyes that seemed to understand her. Seemed to know her life, and her daughter's.

A vague flip of his wrist and jerk of his head invited her to follow him once again, and she did.

They walked in silence for the most part, slowly and quietly. Daryl focused on their surroundings and scanned the area constantly for any sign of threat, while Carol kept her feet on the ground ahead of her, just trying to stay upright.

"It's because of the squirrels, earlier," she mumbled suddenly. "He was mad about the squirrels."

Daryl nodded in understanding before muttering a regretful, "I'm sorry."

And then she surprised him.

"I'm not," she said firmly, though her voice was so quiet that it almost sounded like a wordless breath.

He looked at her then, eyeing her profile as she walked along, still watching the ground ahead of her. Assessing. He hadn't been expecting such feistiness from her.

Carol hadn't noticed that he'd been staring at her though, and when she looked up at him to speak once more, he snapped his head forward abruptly.

"What will you do if he catches us now? He'll try to kill you, you know."

"Not if I kill him first."

So simple, just like that.

He realized what he said then, and peeked at her shyly, as though expecting some sort of chastisement. But she'd been nodding, and she didn't say another word.

As they approached the break in the woods that would bring them back to camp, he held up an arm to cut her off, and they ducked down behind some shrubs to observe the scene.

Ed wasn't there, just as Daryl had told her. Sophia was sitting with Carl on a blanket playing cards. Lori was cutting Glenn's hair nearby.

They both straightened as their surveillance showed them that all was sound.

"You alright?" Daryl asked her, already taking a step in the direction away from their camp, retreating once again into the woods.

Carol only nodded, her eyes traveling from Sophia's giggling form back to Daryl.

"Thank you," she said.

Words failed him in response to her gratitude, not entirely sure what she had to be thankful for. But his cheeks turned pink and his head ducked low, a corner of his mouth quirking so slightly that it was almost imperceptible.

And that was all she needed.

She turned away from him and carefully picked her way through the brush, making her way back towards her girl.

He watched as Sophia lit up at the sight of her mother, and how Lori and Glenn smiled from their perch just next to them as Sophia talked animatedly about winning a hand of _Go Fish_.

There was nothing he could do for them, he knew as much. But he would be there if they needed him.


	21. Home

**Here is a S5 oneshot that took me about five months to write ; ) It's my little version of how Carol might tell Daryl what happened with the girls...I truly don't see it happening this way on the show, but I've read SO many wonderful renditions of this reveal, and this was something that came to me. I hope you enjoy it...thanks for giving it a shot!**

**Extra special thanks and love to my wife, stephtron312, for reading this 70 times and being just generally the best. oxox**

* * *

He'd heard the sounds coming from upstairs, though he had been certain only a moment ago that he'd come home to an empty house.

_Home_.

Try as he might, there was still something missing. Still something _off_, and it was a feeling he couldn't seem to be able to shake, regardless of the seemingly endless hot running water and warm beds to lay their heads at night.

Daryl took the steps two at a time and saw the door to the laundry room wide open. Peeking his head in, he watched as Carol stuffed the last of the dryer's contents into a basket and hoisted it onto her hip as she turned towards him.

"Oh! Hey, Daryl," she said somewhat breathlessly as she breezed past him and into Carl's bedroom. She instantly began spreading a fitted sheet onto his mattress as Daryl watched from the doorway.

"You need any help?" he asked.

"Nope," she replied simply, with an enthusiasm one wouldn't have thought to equate with the task at hand.

"You, uh…you back to all this now?" he asked, lowering his voice a level or two. He gestured a hand at the scene before him as though to prove his point, though she couldn't see it with her back to him.

"To what?" Her voice held that same air of feigned gusto that sent the wrong kind of chills down his spine as she studiously avoided turning in his direction.

He paused for a hard swallow, his nerves getting the better of him. He hadn't a clue as to how she'd react. He almost felt like he didn't know her at all anymore – like he was walking a fine line at this very moment on simply ruining it all between them.

"You doin' the laundry? Cookin' our meals? This…this _you_ now? Again?"

This wasn't her anymore, and they both knew it. The Carol whose only contribution to survival in this world was to cook and clean for the group had died away ages ago. And while all of that was still so important, she was so much _more_ than that now. But Alexandria had pulled her back, even if she said she was only just pretending. He had quickly begun to realize that the pretending scared him more than anything, because of how eager she seemed to be doing it. To blend in…to be forgotten.

Or maybe just to forget.

Carol stopped yanking on the sheets abruptly and turned to face him with her hands on her hips. He thought she was going to lose it, for a brief moment. Just fly off the handle completely and give him a piece of her mind. Maybe have the breakdown that she seemed to be fighting to fanatically. There was a flash in her eyes suddenly, and then…_nothing_.

The smile was back and she shrugged coolly. "Appearances," she said simply – almost airily – and turned back to the bed she was making.

"There ain't no one here," he mumbled, his gaze fixed on her back as he called her out.

"Can't be too careful," she shot back quickly, defensively.

"Right," he breathed, eyeing her disappointedly as she worked. She was pulling away – from _him_ – and he couldn't ignore the sting of her obvious rejection. It was a thing he wasn't sure he could accept.

He huffed a humourless laugh and ran his eyes over her thoughtfully before quietly taking his leave. And the instant she was sure he was gone, she let the smile fall away and let her shoulders slump back to the way that felt most natural nowadays.

Because she was cracking, inch by inch, and she could feel each fissure making its way through her, threatening to suffocate her with her reality.

* * *

Two days later, Daryl had returned to the house after his meeting with Deanna and Aaron, having rushed out of there as quickly as he could. _Knowing_ she would be there, doing whatever it was she thought she was worth nowadays.

But this time, when Daryl walked through the front door, the house was entirely silent. No clanging of washing machine doors or pots in the kitchen. No footsteps from above, giving her away. The slightest shift in the air had his brow furrowed and his nerves piqued.

Something was different.

He set his crossbow down gently by the door and poked around the main floor before making his way up the stairs.

The bedrooms were all clear, not a soul to be found. He shook his head in bewilderment as he lingered in Carl's bedroom doorway, eyes drawn to the immaculately made bed. And just as he had reached the landing before making his way back down the steps, he heard the sounds from beyond the semi-shut ensuite door.

He tried to make enough noise as he walked through the master bedroom that housed Rick and Judith at nighttime, so as not to startle her. But she never called out to ask who was there, and the hushed sounds he heard from beyond the threshold never stilled. So he pushed the door open slowly and quickly scanned the room before he found her.

There she was, on her hands and knees, scrubbing vigourously at the bottom of the bathtub she was leaning into with the rough edge of the sponge she held.

"Hey," he grunted.

She didn't respond right away. It took a beat too long for her to realize he was there, as though her brain had been trying to get her attention but she was too lost in her own mind.

_Someone just spoke to you. You need to answer them now._

She turned abruptly, her expression flat and cheeks flushed with exertion. "Hey," she said dimly, and turned back to her scrubbing.

No fake smile today. No pretending.

He dug his booted toe into the doorjamb and looked down at the pristine white tile below him. "Appearances?"

She leaned back on her heels and wiped at her forehead with the back of her wrist, her rubber-gloved hand clutching tightly to the sponge.

"Um…yeah," she breathed forcefully.

"Carol-" he began.

"I'm _fine_, Daryl," she cut him off, turning her head to look up at him with that luminous smile suddenly plastered on her face. Deflecting him.

He couldn't smile back, though his eyes were transfixed on her beautiful, sad face. She was slipping away – slowly at first but it seemed now to be picking up speed – and he was losing his grip. He didn't know what to do anymore, and he was terrified.

She nodded encouragingly at him, the smile she held wide and unconvincing. Her eyes too bright and unblinking.

So he swallowed back the lump and nodded stoically at her, his mind racing to find another way to reach her. She'd already turned away from him and back to scrubbing at the tub that already looked spotless, and so he retreated with no other clue of what to say next.

But before he could make himself take that first step down the steps, he turned back with faltering strides through the bedroom. He couldn't leave her. She as losing her grasp on her façade and if he left, there would be no one there to catch her.

"You can talk to me," he said when he returned to the ensuite doorway once more.

Her movements faltered only slightly and she kept her gaze on the fiberglass finish of the sparkling white tub. And then she stopped, and her even, colourless voice spoke as she turned her head a fraction of an inch in his direction.

"No, Daryl," she said feebly. "I can't."

The memories that haunted her weren't the ones she'd been expecting. They weren't of the blood covering Lizzie's hands, or the sight of Mika's small, still body lying motionless in the grass. They weren't of the sound of her gun going off, sending an echo through the air that would mark the end of another life taken, or of the slump of Lizzie's body as she fell lifeless to the ground.

They weren't the cries of _promise me you'll wait_, and _please don't be mad at me, I'm sorry_.

_I'm sorry I pointed my gun at you. You're mad at me. I'm sorry._

They were of Judith's smiling face looking up at her from where she lay on the blanket, unaware of the fate that had waited for her only moments before.

They were of the haunting silence that gripped the house that night, two less warm bodies that had been there just that morning.

She would never be able to get that _silence_ out of her mind.

These were the things that lived inside her head now. Garbage on top of garbage. Poison added to the poison that already lived there.

And telling anyone else of the demons she housed within her would mean they'd live inside _them_, too. They'd be tainted, just like she was, and they would never be the same.

She could never do that to Daryl.

Daryl, who'd managed to overcome it. Who'd managed to rise above and foster a new kind of hope within himself that hadn't existed before. Daryl, who didn't deserve to be ruined and who was better than she was.

No. She could never do that to Daryl.

_We don't need to tell them about the girls. I don't want to_.

"You _can_," Daryl insisted, bringing her back from wherever it was that she'd lost herself.

"I don't want to ruin you."

_I just need to forget it_.

"Carol-"

She threw the sponge down, braced her hands on the ledge of the tub and turned to him bitingly. "I don't want you to know _any_ of the things in my head. Okay? I don't want you to carry _any_ of it. Because you will, Daryl. You _will_. You'll want to help me, but you _can't_. You'll fail and you'll blame yourself and…I'm just…it's over for me, Daryl. It's over. I'm _gone_."

She was talking – _finally_. And he had to keep trying. Be the support for her that she'd always been for him, since the very beginning.

"You can trust me. Don't you-"

"I know. I _do_," she said, a note of pleading in her tone that he would just stop and _go_.

"Whatever it is-"

"Daryl, you don't know what you're talking about." She removed her gloves now that she'd had _enough_ and threw them down next to the sponge, standing up to face him. To confront him.

"We ain't dead," he begged, moving to block her as she tried to storm past him.

She paused, those three words finally taking their toll on her, her head dropping forward in defeat. She'd tried to believe them – for _Daryl_ – but it was a ruse she could no longer hold.

"We're not dead," she mused after a hum, leaning her back exhaustedly against the doorframe. Her voice was low now, as though just having this conversation was draining whatever she had left. "I feel like I am."

He leaned on the frame opposite her, using this break as his opening to get to where he wanted.

"You ain't _feelin_' it," he said softly. "Like you said, remember? You gotta-"

"Lizzie stabbed Mika to death," she said sharply as her head snapped to look him in the eye, the slightest of sneers on her face as though the taste of the words on her tongue was making her physically sick. "Then she turned her gun on me so that I would let Mika turn – so I wouldn't…put her _down_. And she couldn't be around people anymore, so I shot her." Her voice became more agitated as she went on, and her breath came heavier. "I killed her, Daryl. I killed that little girl. I killed her. _I killed her_."

And then she pushed herself roughly off the doorframe and moved between his legs – outstretched to support his lean – getting as close to him as possible without touching him at all. Her eyes darkened with the heaviest of sorrow, and she spoke her net words slow enough to drive home how deeply they cut into her.

"You want me to _feel_ that? It will _break_ me."

He stared at her, unmoving, his insides screaming in agony at the story she'd just told him. Dying piece by piece just from the sheer look in her eyes. The pain in her voice.

Since the moment Tyreese died she'd been carrying it all alone.

But she stayed still, frozen in place as the words hung heavily in the air between them. His eyes became glassy at the same moment hers did, though the intensity of her feelings, and the weight she'd just had lifted off her shoulders, had her reacting at a much quicker pace.

Before he could think _once_ of what to possibly do next, her face crumpled and a tormenting sob sounded through the small space, echoing off the walls and releasing the floodgates hard and fast.

She doubled over and off to the side, and he moved fast to catch her. He wrapped his arms tightly around her body, holding her arms to her sides.

She thrashed as she sobbed and he could feel the pressure of her arms pushing hard against his hold, but he only held on tighter until she finally gave in. The fight left her just as quickly as it had come on, and he could feel her buckle as he supported her weight.

He pulled her tightly against himself as his own back hit the wall behind him and he slid down slowly – gently – until they sat on the floor together and her cries took over.

She let him hold her until the last of her tears were exorcised and went limp against him at last, her head falling back to rest on his shoulder as she worked to steady her quaking breath. And through it all, he kept his arms around her and stayed as still has he could – being her rock, being her constant.

"You ain't _gone_," he whispered, and he could feel her sharp intake of breath. Before she could protest, he pressed on. "I'm sorry that happened. I'm so sorry. But, Carol, you can't give up."

"How am I supposed to do that?" she asked, her whispered words shaky.

"You saved my life," he reminded her earnestly. "You saves us all."

"I couldn't save them," she argued, her body tensing as she fought back more tears. "Those children. _My_ children."

"You can't save everyone. It's what life is now."

And she knew he was right, although it was a concept she could never seem to wrap her head around.

"You're supposed to hate me," she whimpered.

"Never."

"I need to suffer for this," she wept as her head fell back to his shoulder once more. "You need to judge me. I _need you_ to judge me."

His arms squeezed tighter, and he brought his lips to her ear. "I'll never judge you," he whispered.

New tears came silently then. She was sad that he was accepting this, accepting her. Upset with him for giving up his morality for her. Angry that he could love her to a point where his own judgement would be so clouded. Furious that she'd failed him.

She needed him to be the one to punish her for what she'd done, because it was _him_ who she loved the most.

"I'm here, Carol," he said softly. "I'm alive. Because of _you_. _You're_ the reason I'm here."

He felt her hands slide over his arms, still wrapped around her, still holding her close.

"You saved me," he breathed.

He loosened his grip slightly when he felt her twisting in his arms to turn towards him, and met her eyes – only an inch or two from his. Her gaze travelled over his face before moving to meet his once more.

"Because the world needs you," she whispered.

"The world needs you, too. _I_ do. _I_ need you."

She leaned forward then, and pressed a lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth. He leaned into her as she pulled away, and their eyes met for an instant before she rested her head on his shoulder. He ran his fingertips delicately over her arm, a subtle reminder that he would be there for her always.

"We'll be alright," he muttered.

"We might be," she countered.

"We _will_ be. Ain't leavin' you behind."

He felt her nodding against his shoulder, and a smile tugged at his lips.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"It's what we do," he said simply, shrugging as though it was the simplest logic there ever was. "It's just what we do."

They hadn't moved from their spot on the bedroom floor until Rick had come in to put Judith to bed, having ignored the sounds of their family bustling below them, and the fading loud outside the window.

And so he walked her to her bedroom then, his hand loosely holding hers after having not letting him go once she pulled him up off the floor.

Once they reached her door, she turned to him and took a breath, but he cut her off before she could utter a word.

"Ain't gotta thank me," he told her with a smirk. And her eyes fell to his smiling mouth and her own lips curved up in response.

"Goodnight, Daryl," she said instead, and she felt his hand tightening around hers. Threading their fingers together and squeezing firmly.

"'Night, Carol," he replied with a nod.

And their fingers loosened as their hands slid slowly apart.

She went inside and shut her door gently, and he made his way down to the kitchen where his family gathered, having all made their way home after what was sure to have been another long day.

_Home_.

And just like that, he had started getting used to the idea.

* * *

**Thank you SO much for reading! MUAH!**


	22. Pieces of Things

**Here is a little oneshot that takes place in Season 6, after the attack of the Wolves and the walker herd that is currently heading their way. There is nothing spoiler-y in this one, as I legitimately have absolutely no clue what will happen after all this on the show, it's just a little daydreaming of mine about a potential Caryl-y moment of comfort. : )**

**Thanks, as always, to my dearest darling Stephtron for always making the things I write better. 3**

* * *

The house was dim when she went inside, with only the soft glow from the kitchen to catch her eye as she shut the door softly. The flickering shadows dancing just ahead told her a candle was lit. She could hear the chiming sounds of a pot being placed in the sink, a drawer being opened and closed. And when she peeked into the room, the very last thing she'd expected to see was Daryl Dixon placing two forks on the placemats there. Two full wine glasses rested elegantly on the tabletop, next to the plates that sat untouched, piled high with spaghetti.

She'd noticed that he'd disappeared roughly an hour ago, but…

His vest was gone, his crossbow nowhere in sight. The most surprising image of them all, though, was that of his hair pulled off of his face, a tendril having fallen out of the loose bun at his nape. She allowed herself the slightest of self-indulgent moments to appreciate his face.

Her eyes scanned the kitchen and realized he'd made dinner. There was a cup filled with water, holding a few flowers from the garden in the centre of the table. A lit candle sat just beside the makeshift vase, and she fleetingly wondered where the flowers could have even come from. It had never occurred to her that the gardens could have the attack.

Daryl looked up at her as she hesitantly entered the room, and hastily made himself busy once the forks were set down by needlessly adjusting the edge of a placemat.

Something she hated but couldn't quite name settled itself in her gut, and she spoke in hopes of brushing it away.

"You have a date or something?"

Her raised eyebrow and sarcastic tone did nothing to disspell the chill in her voice. But it had been a long day, and she wasn't sure she cared about much of anything anymore, least of all impressions.

"Um…something."

She nodded awkwardly and looked around one last time before moving towards the stairs. She couldn't care about this now. She couldn't care that, even after half the town had been slaughtered by a group of psychopaths and an unprecedented amount of walkers had finished the job not two days before, Daryl had found his footing and decided that now was the time to be romantic with someone who wasn't her, while the rest of them cleaned it all up.

"Aren't you gonna ask who it is?" he asked softly before she could disappear entirely.

She stopped at the first step, her hand clutching the banister before inhaling sharply and turning around. "You know, I don't really-"

But he was already standing right in front of her holding the two glasses of wine, one of them outstretched towards her. Her eyes flickered between his face and the glass, the pieces fitting themselves into place though she wasn't entirely sure she could believe any of it just yet. Her lips formed themselves to speak, but he beat her to it, his gravelling half-whisper curling around her like a blanket.

"You hungry?"

Her eyes met his then – _finally_ – and she nodded, wordlessly taking the wine glass from his hand. He had been waiting for her, and she wasn't sure what to make of it. She wasn't sure of anything, it seemed, but couldn't even find it in herself to care. He must have noticed the way she'd been teetering on the edge for him to choose to do this now. Or else he just had the most god awful timing in the history of the world.

They sat together quietly, adjacent to one another with the sweet flowers between them, and the flickering candlelight.

He had done this. For her.

"It ain't much," he began. "An' I needed help to make it, but-"

Her mind flashed to the time not ten minutes ago when she'd passed Eric on the walkway coming inside. He had given her a sweet half-smile in greeting and she'd placed a hand on his shoulder, but neither of them said anything because there wasn't much to say anymore. All that was left were pieces of things – whatever they happened to find in the rubble of the town's remains, and none of it helped anything.

"It's perfect," she told him. "It is."

The corner of his lip curled up just a touch and he nodded, picking up his fork and digging into his meal.

Carol picked up her own fork and used the prongs to pick at the edge of the pasta. She paused when a thought came to her.

"We're leaving first thing in the morning," she stated, though it almost sounded like a question. Like she was making sure he knew the plan, since he seemed to have chosen fixing a nice meal over making his preparations. It just didn't fit.

"Mhmm," he grunted. He saw the silent question in her eyes and answered it. "Thought we could use the break before we go."

Carol nodded thoughtfully. So this was his intention, then – the timing was deliberate. And again, she wasn't sure what to make of it or what she could possibly say. She sat still, contemplating, her hands resting on the table and making no move to eat. Like she was frozen in place. As though the weight of it all had crept up on her somehow and was crippling her from the inside out.

By the time he'd noticed she hadn't moved an inch, her face was crumpled and her eyes squeezed shut, and she was quickly losing the fight against herself.

Daryl dropped his fork promptly, the clang on the plate echoing in the quiet kitchen. He leaned towards her and placed a hand atop hers, and it was then that the sob finally broke free. His thumb flitted gently over her fingers as she fought to gain control of herself. He moved his hand then, nudging hers along with it until they were palm to palm and fingers laced together. She clasped onto him just as tightly as his hand held hers, until she could finally speak.

"It's too much," she confessed. And those words – those three words that had weighed ten tons – had lifted right off her shoulders. The glint in his eyes shifted from one of concern to one of understanding. Of agreement.

His brow creased and he swallowed deeply before nodding ever so slightly. "Yeah," he muttered, and took pause as his eyes flittered to the tabletop and back. "Yeah."

Her shoulders slumped with relief at his understanding. It was everything she hadn't even realized she needed. She wasn't the only one struggling not to crack in half under the pressure. She wasn't the only one fighting to keep themselves together piece by piece.

So she took a deep breath and nodded back at him, her bottom lip quivering with the overwhelming gratitude that coursed through her body. Her heart ached for Daryl, for herself, for them all. And she realized once more just how special he was to her – how precious – that he offered her a different kind of respite from herself that she was sure no one else could. It was a different kind of acceptance. A different kind of empathy.

It was different from the way she and Rick supported one another's brutality. It was different from the way Morgan saw right through her and tried using his peacefulness to pull her back to her humanity. He didn't know her the way he thought he did.

But Daryl – he truly knew her.

And in moments like this one – when she just didn't have any words – it meant more to her than anything else ever could.

Another tear slipped down her cheek and she wiped it away swiftly – eyes locked together and hands squeezing tighter – and still, she didn't have any words.

"Yeah," was all she could manage in a forced whisper.

Their hands slipped apart as they turned back to their food. They took their first bites in silence and she was acutely aware that this one marked the very best meal of her life. She locked it away in her mind – one of those top ten moments she'd save and only pull out again right before she died.

Because he did this for her.

As she swallowed her third perfect bite she peeked up at him, her eyes scanning the way he hunched over his plate and took another large bite. "Thank you," she muttered.

He stopped then and straightened his posture, looking at her intently as he swallowed his mouthful. His jaw tensed and he almost looked like he would say something. But instead he just nodded one time, in the way he does when she thanks him for the wonderful things he does for her. Only this time, he was looking right at her and his gaze never wavered.

They turned back to their food and finished their meal, relishing in the quiet that this very moment offered them.

It was all they could do right now, anyway.

* * *

**Thank you so much for reading, oxoxoxox**


	23. Secret

**For bae. ox**

**(this is the extended version of the drabble I wrote for thecaryldaily's weekly prompt - Week 15: Secret)**

* * *

The first time they'd been only a little bit tipsy, sneaking off to a deserted hallway and having the most unromantic and uncoordinated sex that was humanly possible.

Naturally, they had to try again…to make up for that first time.

They hadn't planned on keeping it a secret, or on it ever happening at all, really. But once it had, they were finding it hard to stop. Neither would deny that it was fun, at the very least. But neither of them needed to make any major declarations either – though it was most definitely infinitely _more_ than just fun.

Not to mention, it wasn't anyone else's business anyway.

Finding a place to do it had started to become half of the fun. With the arrival of the new people from Woodbury, along with the newcomers that trickled in seemingly on the regular nowadays, they were having to get a little bit more creative.

Carol was startled awake one night by the soft touch on her arm. She jolted upright as her hand snatched the knife she kept under her pillow on instinct and swung her arm up to strike at the same instant Daryl flung himself backwards and narrowly avoided the blade.

She instantly recognized the shape that was now a heap on her floor, and clutched a hand to her chest as she exhaled heavily.

"What the _hell_ are you doing?" she whispered frantically, so quietly that she barely made a sound.

He pulled himself up on his knees then and scrambled towards her, bracing himself with his hands on her bed. He kissed her mouth softly and lingered there a moment before simply responding, "Getting creative."

"You're a sex addict," she breathed through his kisses as he moved on top of her, pushing her down gently onto the bed.

He was growing less and less shy with each time they got together, and this time when he ran his hand down her body and to that sweet spot she could only gasp softly. He brought his mouth to her ear and she could feel the smirk on his lips. "Can you blame me?"

Daryl stayed with her until the break of dawn, and she fleetingly worried through her drowsiness that she'd become addicted to the overnight sleepovers now. And that would mean a whole other step forward that she wasn't sure either of them were ready for.

He threw on the essentials and grabbed the rest of his things in a bundle before kissing her cheek and leaving her to drift back to sleep.

* * *

The next morning, it was business as usual around the prison they now called home. Everyone had their jobs to do and got started on them just like any other day.

Daryl and Carol rarely spoke to one another during the daytime, except for the rare occasions when they were able to sit down for a meal together. They were each more often than not busy with their own tasks, which made their secret-keeping much easier than either of them had anticipated, and sweetened the deal that much more.

There was something incredibly intimate about the two of them knowing something that no one else knew. It would almost be a shame once the cat was inevitably out of the bag.

Rick had been making his way past Daryl's cell when he heard the muffled, _What the fuck?_, and peeked his head in curiously.

"Looking for something?" Rick asked, taking in the state of his friend's things strewn about and the way Daryl rifled through his bag.

"Can't find my damn sock," Daryl told him, refusing to take a break from the search.

Rick glanced down to see Daryl with one foot bare and his mind flitted back to the time they'd been rationing the supplies that Glenn and Maggie had brought back from a run. Rick had offered him the brand new pair of tube socks – a crisp white and still in their package – but Daryl had refused.

_Nah, don't need an extra pair of socks, Princess_, he'd quipped, opting only for the new belt to replace his newly broken one.

"I can lend you a pair," Rick offered, opting not to remind Daryl just how useful that extra pair of socks would have been.

"I ain't wearing your dirty ass socks," Daryl retorted in mock offense.

Rick rolled his eyes from where he stood leaning in the doorway. "They're clean, Daryl."

"It's fine, I'll find it later. I know it's in here, I had it on last night," he said, giving his cell one last once-over.

But then he seemed to realize, the lightbulb turning on suddenly in his mind.

_Shit_.

He shoved his feet into his shoes and winced at the feeling of his bare foot scraping against the worn, rough material. Grabbing his crossbow and flinging it over his shoulder, he followed Rick out into the hallways, saying he'd meet him outside where they would be making plans for the new pigpen they'd planned on building, wanting to check first in the last place he knew for sure he'd taken it off.

Or, rather, where _she'd_ taken it off.

Glenn poked his head out of his own cell just before the two parted ways. "Hey, Rick. Ty and I are heading to that lumber hard today. We're leaving in about twenty minutes, so let me know what you need for the…what's wrong with you?" he interrupted himself, distracted by Daryl's squirming as he walked awkwardly to where he wanted to be.

"Goin' barefoot in here. It's driving me nuts." He glanced anxiously towards Carol's cell door – only a few feet away – fidgeting his foot inside his boot to try and get more comfortable.

Glenn looked at Rick with confusion, oblivious to the way Daryl's sights flashed nervously towards his destination, where Hershel seemed to be making himself far too comfortable.

"He lost a sock," Rick clarified.

"Oh. Here," Glenn began, reaching back to open his dresser drawer. "I have an extra pair." He tossed the balled-up socks and Daryl caught them with one hand before tossing them back like a hot potato.

"I don't want your socks, I'll find it later."

"What's the big deal?" Glenn chuckled, tossing the socks back. "They're _clean_."

Glenn just barely caught the bundle once more, chuckling at Daryl's expense as he teased him about his apparent foot phobia and finally coming out of his cell to join fully in the banter.

In the midst of it all, Hershel sat on the stool just to the left inside of Carol's cell door as they discussed the day's plans and the agenda for the afternoon's council meeting while she went about making her bed. They could hear Daryl's grumbling not too far away as he and Glenn bickered about lost socks, and Carol only smirked to herself as Hershel ran through a last-minute item that had been brought to his attention just that morning, wanting her opinion on the matter.

If she leaned over just so, she could see him perfectly…

She snapped her attention back to the man speaking to her, and a lone sock fell to the floor just at the edge of the threshold as she shook out her sheet, and they froze. And in that very instant, every bit of noise just outside her door ceased completely.

Rick stayed silent, opting only to look back at his brother, grinning wickedly at the revelation, while Glenn plucked his rolled up socks back out of Daryl's hand and sauntered off smugly, lips curled up in a self-satisfied smirk.

"Daryl," Hershel called, finally breaking the silence. "I think we might have found-"

He was cut off abruptly by Daryl's scowling form hovering just next to him.

"Yeah. I got it," he sneered.

Daryl bent down and swiftly collected his no-longer-missing sock, removed his boot to replace it, and promptly shoved his foot back inside, quickly lacing them up before straightening to stand once more.

Carol stood frozen as Daryl glared Hershel's way – softening his eyes as he glanced in her direction – and stifled a grin as she watched appreciatively while he walked away.

Pursing her lips, she looked towards her friend sheepishly.

Hershel only smirked, and retreated as he quipped, "Your secret's safe with me."


	24. The Tomato and the Pickle Jar

**It has come to my attention that the fandom has become extremely discouraged by the lack of Caryl this season and the direction of each character's respective story arcs, and although I don't fall into that camp (on the contrary, I've been very pleased with the Caryl nuggets they've been feeding us all season - and the show as a whole - and am very much looking forward to what's coming!), I figured a little mundane drama-free Caryl was just what the doctor ordered.**

**I hope you all enjoy! : ) oxox**

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Daryl finally found his moment and took advantage by sneaking away to the roof where he knew he could get some peace.

He'd found the jar of pickles two days ago, warm in the shop window light but still making his mouth water nonetheless. He was even planning on sharing it with anyone who'd expressed interest, but he woke up this morning on the wrong side of the bed and decided he'd only be generous with whatever was leftover – _if_ there was any.

He sat at the edge of the building, feet dangling and enjoying the view of the wide open spaces surrounding them. He took a deep breath once he was settled and comfortable, before lifting the jar and inspecting it admirably.

It was far past its expiration date, but still looked decent. The seal hadn't yet been broken and he figured the salty taste of the warm pickles wouldn't hold a candle to a nice cold one, but it was a treat he didn't have to share and that was enough for him today.

He twisted the jar open with an audible _pop_ of the lid and breathed in the scent of the dilly treat, before reaching in unapologetically to grab his first victim.

Daryl could feel the juices running down his hand as he took his first bite, closing his eyes and moaning in appreciation of the crunchy, sour refreshment.

He paused mid-chew when he heard the unmistakable sound of the heavy door clanging shut behind him and turned his head disdainfully towards the imposter. His face only softened with he saw the figure that matched the familiar footfalls, watching her as she eyed an object she had wrapped in a cloth napkin, the shine from the small paring knife she held glistening in the sunlight. She was still entirely oblivious to his presence.

Carol stopped abruptly – a handful of feet away from him – and allowed her eyes to drift down to the jar in his hand once she noticed that he was chewing on something. She quirked an eyebrow his way, subtly questioning his lack of generosity with his bounty, before removing something from her pocket and settling herself down at the edge of the building a few feet away from him.

She side-eyed him as she unwrapped her little package, and he noticed the item she'd held in her pocket was a salt shaker, and it was now sitting next to her thigh, piquing his interest even more. Her legs were crossed – not dangling freely as his were – as she worked to start carving her own secret delicacy.

Daryl couldn't help but stare at the plump, red skin of the large tomato she held, his jar of pickles almost entirely forgotten in his hand. The juice flowed candidly from the vegetable, and his eyes followed the motion of her hand as she brought it to her lips, licking her fingers clean before continuing with her task. His mouth watered at the prospect of getting to taste some of it for himself, but when he noticed the pause of her hands his gaze met hers and took in the smirk she held.

He shrugged it off and sat up straighter, returning his attention to his jar. He stuck his hand inside once more, pulling out another pickle and crunched down loudly as the juice dribbled farther down his forearm this time.

He glanced her way as he chewed and watched stealthily at the way she sprinkled salt over top of the wedge she held and took a bite, her own eyes closing in delight as she sighed softly.

Maybe if he shared his, she'd share hers…

_Nah_, he thought. This was _his_ day. But damn if that tomato wasn't one of the most beautiful specimens he'd ever seen in his entire life.

But as the minutes ticked by, he was acutely aware of her dwindling supply. And still she sat there, as happy as a pig in a peach orchard, enjoying every single bite as though it was her very last.

The silence was easy with her, it always was. There was no need to talk about strategies and dangers, about what needed doing or what kind of fight they'd be fighting before the day was done. Those were conversations they could have with other people. But savoring your solitude while still enjoying the company of someone you treasured…

That was reserved for just the two of them.

He faded back into the moment just enough to notice that she'd stopped eating. He turned his head in her direction and his lip curled up softly at the way she leaned back on her hands, her legs now dangling breezily over the edge of the building as she enjoyed the mid-afternoon sunlight.

But that shimmer caught his eye again and he looked towards it at the ground between them, eyeing the knife that lay on the napkin, right beside half of that fleshy, succulent tomato.

A snicker escaped him then, and he shook his head amiably at her generosity. Before he could reach out to take it, her hand appeared in his field of vision, and she placed the salt shaker where he could easily reach it.

When he looked at her face, she was grinning up at the sky, squinting in the light, no doubt feeling proud of herself at the knowledge of how badly he wanted some of her snack. Because she knew him in a way he could no longer hide from.

He reached for his jar then, his smile lingering on his lips, and placed it alongside the tomato spread. She turned her face towards him when she heard the sound of the glass connecting with the pavement, her eyes dancing between his own and the jar.

He moved his hand to hover over the tomato, arching a brow her way until she swiped at the pickle jar, picking it up in one swift motion.

They kept on in that easy quiet they held together, and he smirked at the crunch of the pickles in her mouth, slurping boastfully at his half of the tomato, and barely able to contain the upward curl of his lips as he chewed.

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**Just wanted you all to know that I am anti-spoiler, so please be sure to keep any out of the reviews section (if you choose to review). I'm all caught up to 6.14 but am blissfully ignorant about what's to come in the final two episodes : ) Thank youuu!**


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